


Hearts Lie in Padua

by ArmsofWar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adaptation, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Artist!Gab, Badass!Castiel, Basketballplayer!Gab, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Divorced John, F/M, Foster Care, M/M, Mutilation of Animal Corpse, Nerd!Charlie - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Ten Things I Hate About You Crossover, fem!Gabriel, nerd!dean, popular!Sam, weird!Catiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmsofWar/pseuds/ArmsofWar
Summary: A Supernatural AU adaptation of "10 Things I Hate About You," except also a little bit something else. A lot less Letters to Cleo and a lot more Avengers references. And the same amount of leather.





	1. September

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is something I've been sitting on for a while. It's not finished yet, but it will be soon. I just want to put in a warning that some of the quotes and scenes in this story are near mirror images of "10 Things I Hate About You." Also the characters aren't mine either. To be fair, all of this is basically owed to Shakespeare anyway (poor man). Warnings will be greater as the story rolls on, so please keep an eye out for those. Many thanks to my deeleybopper who reads all of my many drafts of everything and is incredibly nice to me about how horribly I treat my characters and the English language.

 

Welcome to Padua High School: land of freaks, geeks, jocks, cheerleaders, soon-to-be drop-outs, valedictorians, and closeted pretty-boys. Nestled deep in the western fucklands of Kansas, Dean Winchester had approximately 175 more days of miserable obscurity before he could permanently escape to the lands of Anywhere-but-here, U.S.A., free to roam the countryside in his 1967 Chevy Impala, high school diploma in hand. 

Dean rolled up to the senior parking lot, already irritated. He wasn’t driving the aforementioned Impala, which predictably annoyed the absolute crap out of him. Both he and his father agreed that bringing his prized possession anywhere near the fuck-wads of Padua High School was a risk neither of them wanted to take. Since John Winchester was a co owner of the Winchester-Singer Auto-Shop, the only reliable auto-repair/junk yard in the whole of Padua, Dean had his choice of junkers to fix up just enough to drive the 10 miles it took to get to and from his federally and parentally enforced prison. 

His red, ‘97 Toyota Camry had rusty hinges on the passenger door, which groaned as Dean’s massively tall and irritatingly popular brother, Sam Winchester, surged out of the car.

“Dean, we’re gonna be late,” Sam huffed, and Dean rolled his eyes. Dean plucked his coffee from the cup holder and pointedly shoved his slim, wireframe glasses further up the bridge of his nose before rising out of the car.

“Yeah, well, drive yourself to school then,” Dean muttered, slamming his door. 

“I would,” Sam responded. He walked around the car, “but  _ somebody  _ won’t fix up a car for me.” 

“Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were never given the opportunity to learn how to fix up a car what with, you know, _growing up at a garage,_ ” Dean said. “You could ask Dad, you know. I don’t have time to cater to Sam Winchester’s every friggin’ whim.” 

“Yeah, like that could work in  _ any _ universe,” Sam grumbled, and without another word in Dean’s direction, he loped away into the migrating crowd. Dean took his time, sipping his cooling coffee and slowly shutting the door. He heard something slam into the opposite side of his car and in a few short strides found a skateboard and what looked like a freshman groaning and holding his knee. Said freshman looked up into Dean’s cool gaze. 

“Sorry, bro!” the skateboarder said, good naturedly.  

“You hit my car,” Dean remarked, taking a sip of his coffee. Dean observed the light in the young idiot’s eyes seem to dawn in horror at the grave mistake he made entering Dean’s general orbit.    
  
“Uh…” The skateboarding teen slowly stood up, the pain from his knee not nearly the blow that it might have seemed a few moments ago in the face of this new, far more imposing threat. Dean’s eyes did not shift or even blink behind his wire frames, and he stared at the boy evenly as he took one more sip from his cup. 

“You should leave now,” Dean responded. Thankfully, that was all the other boy needed and he was off like a shot, skateboard in hand. When the boy was far enough away, Dean cursed and glanced down at his car. He saw a small scuff but no visibly lasting damage. He opened the door to his backseat and hefted his bag over his shoulder before squaring up to his daily toil and following the tsunami of teenage barbarians inside. 

Once he got in the school he saw Sam at his locker, surrounded by his posse of hyper-idolized, glorified mallrats. Both Winchesters knew the drill: if neither brother acknowledged the other existed once they entered the building, then Dean didn’t have to suffer the torment of Sam’s stupid friends and Sam didn’t have to hear Dean constantly deconstruct the ineptitude of his little brother’s company. 

It had bothered Dean at first. He, as unlikely as he was to ever say it, loved his brother. When they were growing up, Sam was like a second limb for Dean.

But then came high school.

After a fistfight during Thanksgiving of Sam’s freshman year that left both boys with black eyes and Dean on fucking  _ receptionist duty _ at the autoshop for two months, this was the only way to have any peace. 

Dean walked past his brother and his brother's friends with barely a glance, chugging the last of his now cold coffee and chucking it in a bin before heading off to class. 

English class with Mr. LaFitte was an asinine affair, but so was basically everything. Once everyone settled in their seats, the gruff teacher--who looked like he’d rather be on a shrimping boat than with twenty-five bored high school seniors--whipped out his beat up copy of _ Romeo and Juliet _ and threw it on his desk.

“So. Shakespeare,” he said. His voice--Dean would admit quietly in the night to himself when no one would ever hear--was nice. It had a soft Louisiana twang that felt kind and salty, and it made Dean think of open sea and adventure and fuck did he hate Kansas. “I’m sure y’all did the reading last night?” 

The class stilled, and Dean only refrained from raising his hand because he  _ always _ did the reading. 

“I liked it,” said one girl, Becky, who had glitter all over her face and a smile that would scare the devil. She blushed and added, “It’s romantic!” 

“Romantic?” Dean found himself saying with a scoff. He could feel the collective groan from the rest of the room (including Mr. Lafitte), but that didn’t stop him from turning in his chair and leveling his gaze at the dazzling spazz-attack who now blinked at him in obvious trepidation. “Are you nuts? Who the hell reads ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and  _ actually  _ thinks it’s romantic?” 

“Generally the entire English-speaking world,” Mr. Lafitte replied easily. 

“Well I think it’s really long,” another altogether more Scottish voice added. Fergus Crowley, who always sat behind Dean and generally made the latter want to kick things whenever they even breathed the same air, leaned forwards in his chair, “and makes no sense.” 

Dean ignored him and turned his attention back to Mr. Lafitte. “‘Romeo and Juliet’ is anything but romantic. It’s a story that highlights the malfunctions of oppressive rule, and the general pointlessness of factions. Not to mention it’s a cesspool of angst that seems frankly preposterous and irresponsible. Also, can we talk about child-brides? Because, last time I checked, Juliet is, like, 12 years old.”  

“And maybe while he’s at it, he can tell us whether or not annoying social justice warriors should be given a specific allotment of time to bore us all to tears, or whether they should take their Midol before showing up to class.” Crowley asked, met with agreeing snickers from the other classmates.

“Cool it, Braveheart,” Mr. Lafitte replied, and Dean liked to think the dead look of hopelessness in the teacher’s eyes was a trick of the light. 

“Or,” Dean plowed forth, “maybe anyone could explain why we spend so much time on antiquated plays which most of this classroom is too self-absorbed to even bother with, and yet we’ve hardly begun touching modern day influences of literature? Where’s McCarthy? Where’s Vonnegut? And if you say ‘What about  _ Catcher in the Rye _ ?’ I swear to  _ God--, _ ”

Dean was about to continue when a blur of leather and unwashed jeans whisked into the room. 

“Did I miss anything?” the blur, who turned out to be Castiel Novak, general low-life scumbag that Dean usually forgot attended Padua High, asked. 

“Child brides and the limited freedom on literary education,” Dean chimed. 

“Ah,” Novak said, nodding for a moment. “Great.” Before the dust could settle, he took off at a remarkably fast pace back out the door.

“Hey, now just a minute!” Mr. Lafitte shouted, but in an instant the sounds of footsteps were gone, far down the corridor. 

“Hey, Teach,” Crowley said, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe we could convince the squirrel to stay off Tumblr before class?” Again, the sniggering met Dean’s ears which he responded to by rolling his eyes. 

“Shut the fuck up, Fergus,” Ruby Cortese—leader of Crowley’s gaggle of misfits and generally accepted as the coolest girl at the school—sighed, bored. Dean pointedly ignored her as well.

“Call me Teach one more time,” Mr. Lafitte said in a cold and distant tone that made Dean wonder if maybe his high school English teacher was a bounty hunter in his off time. “I dare you.”

Crowley didn’t. No one did. Class resumed. 

When the bell signaled the end of class, the class flew into a frenzy of stuffing books in backpacks and practically back flipping out the door of the English classroom. Dean slowly got up from his chair and started following his moronic compatriots to his next institutionalized torture session, but stopped when the English teacher called out. “Not so fast, Winchester.” 

Great. Dean turned around and flashed Mr. Lafitte a ‘please-make-this-fast’ smile. “Yeah, sir?” 

“Yeah, yeah I’ll let you go in a minute,” Mr. Lafitte said, hardly fooled by Dean’s blank stare. “I’m just letting you know that you could probably cool it on the whole ‘Dean Winchester against the world’ act. No one’s gonna give a crap about your high opinion of yourself once you’re in college.” 

“You’re assuming I’m going to college,” Dean responded, quickly. Mr. Lafitte raised his eyebrows, surprised. 

“You’re not?”

“You’re surprised.” 

“I’d say so. You have ‘Frustrated Postmodern American Literature Professor’ written all over you. What’s the matter, you don’t have the money for it? There are scholarships that I can help you apply for if that’s what you want.” Dean shook his head and his teacher sighed. “Alright, well, be that what it is, you should still watch yourself. Not everybody’s gonna take kindly to being treated like dirt.” 

Dean smirked. “My uncle says I’m tempestuous,” he responded, thinking of how the very word surprised Dean when Bobby had muttered it at him during one of their spats while Dean was on shift at the shop.

“I’d say you’re more of a self-righteous asshole, myself.” Dean blinked. What? Before Dean could verify that Mr. Lafitte—a teacher—just called him an asshole, the man patted his back and went to his desk. Clearly dismissed, Dean wandered out into the hallway. 

It didn’t take long for Dean to forget what his teacher said, especially when the idiocy and disappointment of his classmates made itself apparent to him yet again approximately 2 minutes later by an announcement over the intercom that the senior prom was going to be an “Medieval Escape” theme (and how they got the permission to do that during the middle of the day was unknown). 

Well, Dean thought, at least they were reliable for something. 

\----

“Knock knock.”

“Hm?”

Gabrielle pulled the lollipop from her lips with a hard  _ ‘pop.’ _

“You're supposed to say who's there.” she replied.

Counselor Mosely was an intimidating woman. Gabrielle Milton wasn’t sure why the welcoming committee was an elderly woman with a death stare, but maybe that was just the way Padua High School worked. Warm you up with geriatric coldness and then boot you into the adolescent wormhole of sex, drugs, and calculus. 

“Or not.”

Gabrielle wasn’t too easy to rile, but after a minute or so of tense silence she shifted in her seat. “Yo, Yoda,” Gabrielle said, “Are you waiting for me to do something? Because, I hate to break it to you, but I’m impervious to jedi mind tricks.” 

Mrs. Moseley blinked and her gaze finally moved away from Gabrielle. It roved downwards to the file stuffed with papers that made up Gabrielle’s life.

“You’ve moved around a lot, I see,” the guidance counselor/jedi wizard said. “Five schools in as many years, is that right?” 

“Yeah,” Gabrielle said, sitting on the edge of her chair. “I was just relocated and—.”

“I didn’t ask, hon,” Mrs. Moseley said and Gabrielle shut up. She had a point. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. It’s the same shit, different name and all that.” 

“Um, what?” Gabrielle replied, eyebrows raised. “Did you just say—?” 

“You can leave now. I’ve got other pains in my ass to deal with today, and unless you plan on adding yourself to the list--which I  _ strongly _ don’t recommend--then it’s time to get your behind in motion and out of my office.” Mrs. Moseley moved Gabrielle files aside and, when she noticed that the young freshman hadn’t moved she raised one barely there eyebrow, “I’m sorry, do you speak English?” 

Gabrielle saw that as her cue and swept out of the office. When she opened the door, a boy in a leather jacket was leaning against the wall outside the door.

“I think you’re next, champ,” Gabrielle said. The boy in the jacket turned his head and fixed her with a bright blue gaze. There was no good coming from a gaze like that, Gabrielle thought, although she had to admit....he looked pretty fucking cool. 

“Ah, yes.” the boy said, pushing himself off the wall. “My audience awaits.” Without another word, he sauntered into the office. Gabrielle watched for a moment, before turning around and walking right into a moose. 

Wait, were moose native to Kansas? Gabrielle took a step then another three steps backwards and looked up...and up. That was no moose. 

Apparently, giants once again roamed the Earth. 

“Uh,” she said, succinctly. 

“Oh, God!” the monster man said, reaching out with large hands to latch gently on Gabrielle’s shoulders. He bowed down to look her in the eye. “Are you alright? I didn’t see you!” 

Gabrielle had a feeling that must be a common mishap in this behemoth’s life and nodded, now noticing that the boy before her was not only eighty feet tall but really, really,  _ really _ pretty. Now that his face wasn’t a mile away, she could see he had long eyelashes framing the nicest looking warm brown eyes and she felt her insides go tingly. Those eyes crinkled as he decided, then, to blind poor Gabrielle with a toothy, white grin and maybe this was heaven. Maybe Mrs. Moseley was just the grumpy St. Peter awaiting her at the pearly gates...that just happened to look like a cramped guidance counselor office. 

“Are you Gabrielle Milton?” the giant Fabio asked, flicking his long and shiny brown hair from his face with a tick of his head. 

Yes, she was dead. She was dead and this was Heaven and life (afterlife?) was beautiful. 

“Yes, that is my name,” she said, then realized how stupid that sounded. “I mean, my name, yes, that is me.” Not better. “I am, yes. Hello, I am no wait shit I—.” She stared at the Goliath god and wondered if maybe this was actually hell. “No, stop, shut up.” 

The boy blinked. “What?” 

Noooo no no no no. 

“Hi!” Gabrielle finally said, bouncing up and reaching out her hand. “Hello, I am Gabrielle Milton and I am not a crazy person!” 

Well done. 

The giant boy, God bless him, decided to think that Gabrielle was being funny (which she normally  _ was.  _ She was normally not a complete  _ and utter spazz-attack _ ) and gave her another one of those Oscar award winning smiles. “Well, okay then,” he said, “I’m Sam Winchester, I’m also not crazy, and I am gonna be showing you around a little bit. Does that sound good?”

_ Heaven….I’m in Heaven… _

“Yeah, sounds totally cool,” Gabrielle said, and then thinking that might have sounded a little too enthusiastic, and finally getting a grip on her tongue again, added, “I mean, I guess.” 

Sam smiled and led her away. She had the foresight to reach in her bag and pull out a lollipop to prevent any further foot-in-mouth moments and let the giant angel man lead the way. Oh, it was one of her favorite flavors too: cherry cheesecake. Score. 

Due to some divine intervention and probably the candy occupying her traitorous mouth, the school tour went without a hitch. Sam dropped her off at her third class of the day according to her schedule: Art. 

“So, I’m gonna leave you here. If you get lost, the map should be able to guide you around well enough, and if you need anything just go to the front office or the student government room which is right here,” he pointed at a part of the map that was labelled with a small red “x,” “and someone will be happy to help you out, okay?” 

Gabrielle, for fear of ruining her current, three minute streak of not fucking up a conversation, nodded and looked into the art room. The trepidation she’d felt coming here, since she finally settled into Padua with her (hopefully) final foster family hit her like a freight train. She was going to fuck this up, and no amount of lollipops was going to stop that. And if she fucked  _ this _ one up? Who would want her now? 

“Hey.” 

Gabrielle realized she was still standing in the doorway and Sam was still by her side which was, frankly, a surprise and nearly made her choke on her candy. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, “I’m just—.”

“Nervous?” Sam asked, smiling. Gabrielle didn’t respond and she felt a warm hand pat her shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Remember? You’re _not_ crazy. This’ll be cake.” Gabrielle nodded, but didn’t move until a gentle nudge urged her forward. When she regained her balance and recovered from the surprise, again, she turned and saw the large giraffe boy traipsing away down the hall. She hid a smile and opened the door to the art room.   

On the other side of the door was pure chaos. Apparently, today was pottery day and right when she walked in Gabrielle felt something wet and heavy hit her in the forehead with enough force to make her stumble. 

 “Oh Christ,” a voice cursed. The voice apparently belonged to the art instructor: a woman about Gabrielle’s height (who boasted a confident 5’ even) with a frightening amount of red hair scurried over. Even though she was obviously the instructor of a class where they were making what appeared to be a bunch of individualized mini explosions that were supposed to be pots, the instructor was dressed in what could only be called a ball gown. Said ball gown was remarkably unmarred.

 The woman grabbed a washcloth and, with tiny but rough hands, she began scrubbing at Gabrielle’s face. Soon, though not as quickly as Gabrielle would have preferred, the clay peeled off.

 “Well, you might have a bit of a welt there for a wee bit, but otherwise you should survive without lasting damage,” the woman said, and Gabrielle was surprised to hear a thick Scottish accent. Not the type of thing she expected from small town Kansas.

 “It’s fine,” Gabrielle said, gently touching her skull and wincing at the dull ache. “Nothing like a bit of clay warfare to make a girl feel at home.” 

 The woman in the ballgown seemed confused until she realized that this girl was, A, someone she had never met before and, B, probably the new student she was told she would have starting today. As the lightbulb went off, the woman turned to the rest of the class. 

 “Everyone, listen,” she said. The class stopped their wheels and glanced up. “This is...is…” 

“Gabrielle Milton,” Gabrielle said around her lollipop. She pulled it out with a pop. “And while I appreciate the magnificent welcoming gift, I’m hoping that any other sort of presents come in the form of cash or candy. I’m not picky on that front.” 

 Some of the students laughed, most of them didn’t. The teacher cocked her head. “Can’t win ‘em all,” Gabrielle muttered. 

 “Right!” the woman said. “Well, I’m Rowena. I don’t bother with last names because my husband is a cheating tramp and if I could legally kill him I would.” She waved her hands grandly. “Welcome to Art class.” 

 After the introduction and some brief instruction, Gabrielle was deemed ready for the pottery world and Rowena set her up with clay and a turning table. 

 While her pottery didn’t work out exactly how she planned, Gabrielle started talking to her neighbor which turned out to be a girl named Charlie Bradbury who also had fiery red hair and Captain America t-shirt. Gabrielle was more of a Iron Man fan herself and by the end of class, the two decided to eat lunch together.

 The hallways were bedlam between periods. Students crammed against lockers and in doorways as various groups walked along, shouting and laughing to each other as they went. 

 “Padua High’s pretty much ‘Mean Girls’ when it comes to groups,” Charlie said, guiding Gabrielle to her own locker. “Your best bet is just sticking with me, truth be told.” Charlie glanced back at her new friend, “You seem like you’re gonna stick out like Gandalf in a hobbit party.”

 “Yeah, I uh, have the tendency to do that,” Gabrielle admitted, looking around her. Her dramatically short stature and her inability to properly match her clothes tended to wave many warning flags to those she walked by. But today she really tried: hair in a ponytail, a striped green sweater and soft, blue jeans. She might have gone too librarian and not enough casual-but-hip. She rolled up one sleeve experimentally.

Charlie showed Gabrielle the cool kids, the waiting-until-they’re-sixteen-to-drop-outs, the chess club kids, the smoke-behind-the-bleachers kids, the jocks, the art kids, the chorus kids (although, she didn’t really have to show Gabrielle where they were since you could hear them coming from down the hall singing “Hey Big Spender”).

“What about you?” Gabrielle asked when they finally reached the lunchroom. They sat down at a table that was attached to another one (“those are the stoners. They’re nice but don’t ever take anything they give you, promise?”). “What cult, uh club, do you belong to?” 

Charlie, to Gabrielle’s surprise, seemed to blush at that. Then she looked at Gabrielle with an assessing gaze.

“Okay, do they teach Jedi mind tricks or something here? Stop with the staring contest,” Gabrielle said, waving Charlie’s stare away. 

Charlie straightened up and cleared her throat. She reached behind her and brought a bright blue messenger bag around so Gabrielle could see a big, pin with a rainbow triangle and the letters “LGBTQS Ally” dancing boldly over it.    


“You’re gay?” Gabrielle guessed. Charlie nodded. 

“As Sherlock Holmes,” Charlie said, then added, “except, you know, for girls.” Charlie may be smiling but Gabrielle had a feeling that this was some sort of test and, honestly, the girl was going to have to try a lot harder than that to scare her off. 

“Kay. I guess that explains why you have such horrible taste in superheroes. Honestly, Chris Evans over  _ Robert? _ Sacrilege,” Gabrielle said. She looked away to give Charlie a few moments of relief and glanced at her food. “So...this is supposed to be edible right?” 

They started eating and Gabrielle took this as an opportunity to really absorb the room. This was going to be her home, possibly until the end of her high school career. After years of non-stop switching and moving and social workers, she looked at the chipped tables and weird paintings of cherubs on the wall. Maybe this really could be home. 

“I used to be part of the Anime club,” Charlie confessed when they were nearly done with their meals. “But the politics got a little heated. I’m patiently waiting to organize a coup and take over as president by next year.”

Charlie was about to continue but Gabrielle was gone because right at that moment Sam Winchester walked into the lunchroom. Gabrielle could swear the room got just a little bit brighter. “Jesus Christ on a Ham Sandwich,” she said, slapping Charlie’s arm in a momentary second of excitement, “there he is!” 

“Ow! Who?” Charlie turned around and glanced about until she saw the object of Gabrielle’s very obvious affection. 

“What group is he in?” Gabrielle asked. She knew that Sam was in student council, but with Charlie there was always so much more dirt than just the club. 

Charlie shook her head, “The ‘don’t even think about it’ group.” Charlie turned away from them and picked up her fork to stab a chicken nugget. “Seriously, forget about him.” 

“Uh, a little too late for that,” Gabrielle admitted.

“Well, stop yourself now, it’s not worth it,” Charlie said. “That’s Sam Winchester: a junior and student body Vice President and  _ totally _ unavailable.” 

“He has a girlfriend?” Gabrielle asked, already feeling the small hope in her chest start to fade. 

“Ha! As if!” Charlie said.

Gabrielle nodded solemnly. “Gay."

“Nope.” 

“Then what?”

“Well, not only is he insanely good looking and stupidly popular,” Charlie said, picking up a fry and slathering it in ketchup, “but apparently neither of the Winchester brothers are allowed to date.” 

Now it was Gabrielle’s turn to give Charlie ‘the look.’ “I’m serious!” Charlie said. “I know it sounds stupid, but I’ll swear on every Magic card I own. Everybody at the school knows it. No one is allowed to date a Winchester.” 

It was at that precise moment that another group of people walked in. If Sam was light and brightness, this group was like a blackhole. They all were gorgeous, too (and frankly, Gabrielle thought everyone’s good looks were getting a little overdone by now), and stupidly intimidating. At the head of the pack of hot topic gear and tight fitting pants was a ridiculously good looking girl. She had long brown hair and could do a smokey eye look better than Gabrielle could even dream of doing herself. 

“Who’s that?” Gabrielle asked, seeing the pretty (not the right word, more like stunning, gorgeous _sexy._ Wasn’t she supposed to be a teenager? Where the hell was the twelve layers of awkward she was supposed to be carrying like the rest of them?) girl walk past Sam’s table. She saw the girl lock eyes on Sam, and Sam _definitely_ noticed. 

“Ruby Cortese,” Charlie said, almost sounding like a whisper. “She’s a total bitch. And a model.” 

Gabrielle scoffed. “No way.” 

“Totally not lying!” Charlie said. “Mostly regional stuff. Has an agent or something.” 

They watch Sam and Ruby talk, it doesn’t seem to last long before Ruby is heading off to a different part of the room and Sam’s group of friends immediately start talking excitedly to him once she leaves. 

“Damn,” Gabrielle said, pulling out a piece of gum and popping it in her mouth.  She sighed, “Just look at him.” 

“I’m gay, remember?” Charlie reminded, none too gently.

“Yeah, but come on you have  _ eyes _ don’t you?” Gabrielle chewed her gum noisily as she hummed. “Mmmmm. He’s  _ perfect. _ Like dreamboat perfect. And have you seen his hands? They’re so  _ big.”  _

“I’m sickened by this turn in conversation,” Charlie said, cheerfully. “Please stop before I puke.” 

“And he’s so  _ nice,” _ Gabrielle added. “I made a total ass of myself and he just smiled and, ugh, what the hell is this?” She put her head on the table and sighed. “What is this feeling? It’s like I have butterflies in my stomach and my heart keeps beating faster and I swear my skin is on fire.” 

“I think that’s syphilis,” Charlie said, calmly. 

“You’re the worst,” Gabrielle responded, still face down on the table. She continued chewing her gum. Her friend stayed quiet and she wondered if maybe Charlie really did get tired of the conversation and was about to look up to change the topic or even to see if maybe her friend—her first friend in a long time— ran away. But she didn’t. 

That’s a first. Gabrielle watched as Charlie unwrapped an ungodly sized brownie and took a bite. Such immediate loyalty deserved something in return, she thought. 

So, Gabrielle did one of her favorite things. Charlie, so fresh to this new world of Gabrielle yet so eagerly catching on, must have seen something flash across her face that both concerned and (hopefully) thrilled her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Gabrielle licked her lips and squinted, trying to laser in on what might be too far yet what would be just enough. “I think,” she said, slowly, “I have a way to help alleviate your little...anime dilemma.” 

Charlie perked up. “Really? How?” 

“I can’t tell you yet,” Gabrielle sighed, packing up as the bell rang. “That would spoil the fun. But, could you do me one favor and tell me the names of these anime people?” 

“Uh,” Charlie said. “Well there are a few of them.”

“The president, then. Of the club.” 

“Dick Roman,” Charlie replied. “And, honestly he’s the worst of them all.” 

“With a name like that,” Gabrielle said. “He might be compensating for something.” 

Charlie followed Gabrielle out the door. “And you’re not going to tell me what you’re planning?” 

Gabrielle grinned. Charlie sounded eager, but Gabrielle had too long played the fool to trust that tone of voice fully until the other fully understood the endless possibilities found in Gabrielle. 

Specifically, in regards to how  _ brilliant  _ Gabrielle was at outright yet untraceable property destruction. 

Gabrielle grinned. “You’ll see.”

Charlie and she split off. Gabrielle wasn’t sure how she was going to accomplish this within the first day of school, but she wasn’t raised to be a quitter (Well she was barely raised to begin with, but either way). However, fate seemed to be on her side as she discovered Dick Roman was actually in her gym class. 

Oh. This would be cake. 

She forced Charlie to wait until after classes, but by then the plan was in full force. The red head, with a puzzled gaze, gave Gabrielle the names of the people in the club and those she had been betrayed by. 

Really it was just naivety that gave Charlie any excuse to realize the extent of Gabrielle’s skill. The short blonde watched her friend fondly while sucking on a fresh,watermelon flavored lollipop. Gabrielle had parked them at the benches nearest the front entrance and told Charlie to wait. 

And it had been worth it. 

“Is that Dick Roman...is he wearing…”

“Yes,” Gabrielle said with a smile. “That is a pair of boxer briefs with little flying dicks chasing hearts on them. 

Charlie's face didn't leave Dick. Or the little dicks. Both of which were doing their best to go scarce, and he glared at anyone who he passed all while going as fast as humanly possible. 

As people around them laughed, Gabrielle grinned to herself. She knew that gag gift from Alfie and her tendency to horde things in her backpack would come in handy. Granted, she was supposed to be over that phase of her life by now, but what Jody didn't know wouldn't hurt her, Gabrielle thought. She didn't think on it long as a crowd drew around the smoke trail Dick's rapid exit left behind.

"Did you see the look on his face?” She barked in laughter. However when she looked back at Charlie she looked...perplexed. Huh. That wasn't what she expected. 

“Did you do that?” Charlie asked. 

Gabrielle blinked “I...sort of thought that was obvious.” Charlie seemed, if anything, more troubled. Gabrielle sighed. She knew that look.

“Let me guess. Not good?” 

Charlie, to her credit, gave the question some thought. “I think,” Charlie said eventually, “that between us we could come up with something much better, and much less...publicly humiliating.” 

“Ah,” Gabrielle nodded. “I didn't realize you wanted subtlety.” 

“I didn't realize I was hiring out a hit man when I started talking to you in art class,” Charlie responded easily. Fair. “But...the idea of getting payback on those dickwads. Is kind of...I like it a little more than I thought I would.”

Gabrielle grinned. Okay. So maybe Charlie would be okay, with the burden of being a part of Gabrielle's life. For as long as she stuck around, Gabrielle figured she would keep this friend as long as she could. 

Although maybe she should trash the other novelty underwear she had stocked up for such occasions. Damn. 

Charlie didn’t run away for the rest of the week either, and when Friday rolled around and the redhead still hadn’t left Gabrielle’s side, the shorter girl decided that maybe she could relax a little. 

For now.


	2. September to October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2! I hope you all enjoy. Let me know your thoughts. Also, note that the warnings/tags are slowly altering. Also, a note that this chapter references many things about basketball. I know next to nothing about basketball except what the internet has told me. I hope that suffices for you all.

Another crappy end to another crappy day. Dean was leaning against his car, waiting for Sam to come out of the building.

“Any time now, broseph,” Dean muttered.

Ten more minutes went by and Dean was just about ready to leave his stupid brother at this stupid school he loved so damn much, when Sam burst from its depths, flanked by his group of irritating friends until they waved him off. He made his way across the lot to Dean. 

“Took you long enough,” Dean said once Sam got in earshot. 

“Yeah, well I had shit to do, sorry,” Sam responded. He didn’t sound very sorry, and hiis tone set something inside Dean on edge. 

“Like I don’t?” Dean shot back. Sam barked out a laugh so loud and sudden it almost sounded involuntary. “What?” 

“You? What shit do  _ you _ have to do?” Sam asked, bewildered. “You just sit at home in your room and rant about Hemingway or sit in the shop and rant at customers.” 

“Oh, and like the shit you do is so important? Who the hell’s gonna give a shit about some stupid  _ Lord of the Rings  _ prom bullshit when they get out of high school?” Dean shot back. 

“You’re such a dick, Dean,” Sam spat. “And it’s  _ Game of Thrones,  _ you culturally stunted—” 

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s creepy to wait outside of a girl’s car, Dean Winchester?” 

Dean turned away from his brother and scowled. “Ruby.” He didn’t realize he’d parked next to her this morning. Hell, maybe he didn’t. In fact, it was far more likely she pulled in next to Dean’s car for the chance to piss him off. He hated that it worked. 

Ruby Cortese smirked and leaned against the hood of her car—a fucking Ferrari because life was  _ fucking fair _ . It was a sleek, black Ferrari F430 and gleaming in the early afternoon sun. 

“Hey Sam,” Ruby said, looking past Dean and at his taller, younger brother who Dean could now see was fidgeting and blushing and  _ what the hell? _

“Hey,” his little brother muttered, messing with his hair.  _ Jesus Christ _ , Dean thought. He couldn’t bear to see the inevitable grin on Ruby’s face. She loved this part of the game: the chase. And Sam, who hadn’t had a single girlfriend in his life and didn’t know his head from his tail when it came to dating, was an easy mark. 

“Can we help you?” Dean asked Ruby, pointedly. 

“Not you, bonehead,” Ruby said smoothly, then nodded towards Sam. “You wanna ride?” 

“He has a ride,” Dean cut in. 

“Again, I wasn’t asking  _ you _ ,” Ruby said, smile on her lips and mischief in her dark brown eyes. Sam didn’t stand a chance. 

“Sure,” Sam said. He walked around Dean’s car again. Ruby opened her door and slipped inside the car. When she was out of sight, Dean grabbed at Sam’s arm. “Let go, Dean.” 

“Sam.”

Sam looked up and for a moment the two brothers stared at each other, and Dean thought that maybe Sam was going to listen to him (for once) and just come home. Then Sam was shaking his hand off. 

“See you at home.” 

The ferrari smoothly pulled out of its spot and gunned out of the parking lot, which Dean found fairly irresponsible considering there were so many people still milling about. But after a few short moments, the car was gone. 

Dean slumped against his own rusty monstrosity with a grunt. “Whatever,” he muttered. 

He heard another bang against his car, eerily similar to the one from earlier that day. Dean’s head slowly turned, but instead of seeing a twerpy freshman boy with a skateboard, he saw an equally twerpy but slightly more upright female on a bright yellow bike. 

“What is  _ with _ you people today?” Dean shouted, stalking over to the girls and looking at the damage they inflicted on his car. “Is my car fucking  _ invisible?!”  _

“I’m sorry!” the girl said. She had bewildering red hair that nested above a beanpole thin body. “I lost control.” There was a pained groan from the ground. Dean looked over the back tire of the girl’s bike to see another girl, this one incredibly short and blonde, lying on the asphalt. The girl’s purse lay beside her, with lollipops and lipgloss spewed all over the ground from when she fell and some rolled underneath Dean’s tires. 

Dean had enough. “You have exactly 20 seconds to get out of my way before I run you and your tiny-tots bicycle over with my car.” He opened the door, ignoring the rusty screech, and slammed it shut. His engine turned over with a few flicks of his keys in the ignition and he got ready to back up. 

\---

Charlie barely had enough time to grab Gabrielle off the ground and pull her to safety before Dean Winchester pulled back in his car, rolling down his window. “Hey, maybe you should stick to training wheels next time. Warn me if you ever get behind the wheel of an  _ actual _ vehicle, I don’t want to get killed by you two morons.” 

Whether or not he intended to run over Gabrielle’s lipgloss and cause it to smash and ooze in sparkly defeat, Charlie wasn’t sure. He shifted gears and roared out of the parking lot, leaving the coconut scented carcass in his wake. 

“And that,” Charlie said, sitting on the curb where she left Gabrielle who was holding her arm tenderly, “is Dean Winchester.” 

“Winchester?” Gabrielle asked, raising her eyebrows before once again wincing at the pain of her arm. 

“Yep,” Charlie replied. “The Archduke of Douchedom himself and yes,” she sighed, “also the brother of Sam Heartbreaker Winchester. Aka. the guy you’ve not-so-subtley stalked in the hallway for the past three weeks.” She glanced over her friend who seemed a little banged up but otherwise not completely broken by the fall, “You okay, Gabs?” 

Gabrielle’s head shot up, surprised. “What?” 

Charlie frowned. Maybe the other girl had gotten some head damage. “I asked if you were okay.” 

“No,” Gabrielle responded, “I mean, yeah, but...you called me Gabs.” 

“Oh!” Charlie said. “Yeah, I dunno. Thought it’d be a cool nickname or something.” She tried to see if Gabrielle liked the name or not, but the other girl just seemed surprised, not angry. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a nickname before,” Gabrielle responded, somewhat awed. Charlie felt something soft and warm grip her heart, and wondered just where her new friend came from. She’d gleaned a little bit of information--moved around a lot, liked candy and wearing bright colors, and had a wicked sense of humor--but Charlie had a feeling there was more to Gabrielle than met the eye. 

“Do you...is it okay?” Charlie asked.

Gabrielle seemed to think about it for a moment, then a warm, sly grin quirked her lips. “Yeah, yeah it’s cool.” 

Charlie smiled back. “So...you’re okay?” 

Gabrielle nodded, settling back in a slump and glancing down at her scraped elbow. “Yeah, I just feel like I’m dying a little bit. Seriously, don’t worry.” 

Charlie rolled her eyes. “So you’re not a drama queen at all.” Gabrielle grinned, reaching into her purse and picking up a lollipop, opening the wrapper and sticking it in her mouth. “Is that sanitary?” 

Gabrielle swirled the lollipop around her mouth in response, making an inappropriate groaning noise of pleasure as she did so. Charlie helped Gabrielle pick up the other lollipops and saw that, though some had fallen out, there was still a healthy amount sitting inside the girl’s small bag. “Okay, seriously, how many of those things do you have in there?” 

Gabrielle wiggled her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”    
“Can I have one?” 

“Depends,” Gabrielle said, sucking and then pulling the lollipop out with a  _ ‘pop _ ,’ “Do you feel like dying today?” 

Charlie chuckled. She looked at her bike with a sigh, “Yeah, maybe that wasn’t the best idea.” Gabrielle shrugged. 

“It was kind of fun until the whole ‘plummeting into an asshole’s car’ bit,” she said, swirling the candy in her mouth. Charlie hummed in agreement. “Do you wanna try again?” 

“Hell yeah,” Charlie said. The two girls got up and soon were up and away on Charlie’s yellow bicycle. 

\----

As September wound down, all of the students began settling fully into their schedules. So, of course, that would be riled up with ‘Spirit Week’ placed smack dab in the first week of October which culminated into the first pep rally of the school year on that Friday. 

Gabrielle had never been to a pep rally and judging by Charlie’s reluctance to go, she wasn’t the only one with trepidation about the whole thing. 

However, that didn’t mean there was any reason for them to have spent the past 10 minutes chilling out in the bathroom, half of which including Charlie in a stall doing what she called ‘preventative breathing.’ 

“Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing in there, planting a nuclear bomb? Maybe I should call you Enola Gay.” 

“What the  _ fuck, _ Gabrielle?” Charlie hissed after an adorable squeak of surprise. “Do you want to say that any louder?” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gabrielle took out a small fragrance spray from her purse and chucked it over the door. 

“Ow!” 

“Oops,” Gabrielle said, cheerfully. “I’m going to wait outside.” 

“Don’t let the tides of School Spirit sweep you too far away,” Charlie warned. Gabrielle grinned. 

“I’ll make sure to tether my raft securely to your raft, Mom.” Gabrielle, chuffed by her own wit, pushed open the door with a little too much force. As it swung, the door slammed to a stop with a sudden ‘ _ thump.’ _

“Jesus Christ,” Gabs muttered, having been jolted by the impact. She quickly whipped around the door and Nooooooo no no noo. “Sam?” 

“Ah, god,” Sam Winchester, sex god and all in all dream bucket, groaned holding his forehead tenderly. When the pain ebbed, the tall boy looked up again, and then down, and then down a little further. “Oh! You’re...You’re…” 

“Gabrielle Milton,” Gabrielle said, slightly miffed that the object of her super, super secret and super, super suppressed girly crush didn’t even remember her name, and also slightly stunned that he was there in the first place which resulted in her saying her full name like she was in a Jane Austen novel.

“Gabrielle!” Sam said, smiling as he put the face with the name. “Yes, of course! The not crazy one.” 

“Ha! Ha ha! Uh, yeah. That’s me,” Gabrielle wasn’t sure whether to be happy that he did remember her or to be mortified for obvious reasons. She didn’t have much time to be either as a small bundle of vibrant and possibly malevolent energy shot out at her. Considering her own lack of height, the small platinum blonde girl went right into her face.

“Did you even see what you did? Watch the hell where you’re going!” 

“Woah!” Gabrielle said, holding her hands up in front of her. “Not that it’s not flattering to have your face so close to mine so soon, but I’m more of a three dates kind of gal, thanks.” 

The girl blinked, aghast. “What?” 

“Meg,” Sam said, stepping in front of her, hand slowly falling from his face. “It’s not that big a deal, it was just an accident.” 

“I thought it was hilarious,” another voice said behind him. Gabrielle glanced around Sam and saw a sullen looking, slightly athletic-looking boy with a cruel smirk. She didn’t like the looks of him, and judging by how Sam was looking at him she thought maybe he wasn’t a huge fan, either.

“I’m sorry I hit your face with the door,” she said, gaze sliding back to Sam. And up. Way up. 

Gabrielle didn’t know if that was the right or the wrong thing to say. Sam’s lips quirked up and she thought it might be a smile, but then he winced as touched his forehead again. “It’s okay, Gabrielle. Accidents happen. You’re heading to the pep rally now, right?” 

“Oh, yeah,” she glanced back at the offending door. “Just waiting for someone.” 

“Oh? Cool,” Sam said, and the smile was really there and genuine and mmmmmmmmm Gabrielle was in  _ heaven.  _ “Glad to see you’re making friends.” 

Without any further ado, Meg pulled Sam away with only a brief, venomous glance back at Gabrielle before they took off around the corner and into the swarm of students heading to the rally. Charlie came out of the restroom a moment later, and maybe something of the exchange was still on Gabrielle’s face. “What’s up, homeskillet?” 

Gabrielle tried to shake the moment and smiled at her friend. “Nothing.” She paused and sniffed before grinning. “Glad to see my candy cane body spray came to use!” 

Charlie rolled her eyes and handed Gabrielle her spray back. “I smell like toothpaste and it's all your fault.” 

Gabrielle laughed evilly, Charlie elbowed her in the side, and the pair of them schlepped to the auditorium. 

While she was sure there must have been a point to pep rallies at some point in history—maybe in the early gladiatorial days when the ruling classes needed to convince the proletariat that watching people murder other people or stab lions was a bunch of good fun, but a game of football hardly seemed to need much enthusiasm from the crowd nowadays. The loudest ones sitting a few rows below Charlie and Gabrielle in the bleachers were the same ones who would probably end each game streaking and throwing gatorade at the linebackers. 

“Why are we forced to go to these again?” Gabrielle asked. 

Charlie sighed. “Because people are idiots, Leslie.” At Gabrielle’s blank stare, Charlie took out a notebook and jotted something down. 

“Okay, I’ve been seeing you write in there almost every time we talk, what gives?” Gabrielle asked. She reached over to try and snatch the notebook away, and was surprised when Charlie handed it over freely. 

“It’s my ‘Gabrielle Human Education’ notebook,” Charlie said easily. “After the first day when you didn’t know who at least five figures of popular culture were, I started writing them down so that I can help you slowly assimilate to human life.” 

“I know plenty of culture!” Gabrielle hid her hurt behind a put-upon pout. “We talk about the Avengers all the time! And Harry Potter!” 

“Both of which came out about 5 years ago, Gabs,” Charlie said with a sigh. “It’s all right, my little martian friend. By the time I’m through with you, no one will notice that you’re actually from outer space.” 

Gabrielle rolled her eyes but was cut off by the blaring sound of brass. The marching band seemed unaffected by the fact they were indoors, and blasted their little lungs to full capacity. Gabrielle winced and covered her ears, glancing over at Charlie who had ear plugs. Charlie turned and shrugged. “If you don’t come prepared then you have no right to complain,” she said, simply. 

“Sorry, I can’t hear you down here! You’re so high up on your horse!” Gabrielle shouted back. Charlie rolled her eyes then handed Gabs an earplug. “Uh, no thanks, mi amiga.” 

Within a couple more minutes, and with a final trumpet of a...well, a trumpet, the crowd roared with enthusiasm as the principal took to the stage. He held his hands up, looking cheered by the fanaticism of his young students, rather than horrified as Gabrielle felt was more appropriate. 

“And people wonder why Trump has a chance at the presidency,” Gabrielle muttered, watching as a boy two rows down ripped off his shirt in a fit of jubilance. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” feedback made Gabs wish she had taken Charlie's proffered earbud. Principal Whoshisface cleared his throat. “We are thrilled to have you all here to cheer on our upcoming year of academic and athletic success! Let's bring out your Pep Team Dancers!” 

“What fresh hell is this?” Gabs wondered as enthusiastic music blasted over the soundsystem and a troupe of girls in a sparkly array of yellows and blues alternatively back flipped and cartwheeled across the gym floor. The crowd roared as they began a passionate dance routine, and Gabs tried to follow them. Step to the right, shake their butts. Slide to the left, shimmy, shimmy. “Is...isn’t this child pornography?” 

“I didn’t know you were a prude,” Charlie Teased . 

“I’m not,” Gabs replied, glancing from her dancing peers to the principal to the coaches standing nearby. “It’s just...a little voracious for the early afternoon, isn’t it?”

“And now, introducing your student council!” The dancers swished out of the way and in their stead walked out eight students. Most of them looked older, even Sam but that was mostly because he was so tall the basketball hoop looked lacking. They waved and Sam was laughing at something the guy beside him said.

“You were saying?” Charlie chuckled.

Gabrielle glared at her friend then, reluctantly, shrugged. “Well I guess it's not all so bad.” 

“Pathetic,” Charlie laughed, nudging Gabrielle into a grin. The mascot came on the stage next, a horrific looking wolf that made Gabrielle more uncomfortable than the dancers and all their sequins could have managed. Creepy. She watched him jump around and hug different members of the council, and noticed the girl from before, Meg Masters, among their numbers. Gabrielle saw her grab the wolf and whisper something to him, though how he could have heard above the noise was a mystery. 

The rally went on. 

Gabrielle mostly spaced out and it wasn't until the dancers came back on that she rejoined the program. She glanced at Charlie who may have been enjoying the show for more than just the school spirit. This time the wolf joined them, and even Gabrielle could admit that watching a wolf shake his groove thing was as hilarious as it was mildly scarring. 

Gabrielle should have known there would be trouble as soon as the basketballs started joining in. 

Without saying anything, the girls began pulling students from the crowds. Four stunned boys and one girl stumbled onto the court. It was almost a second too late when Gabrielle realized that the wolf was coming up the aisle and was bee lining straight for her. 

Wolves were terrifying when they stared back at you with vaguely see through eyes. He reached out a hand. To her. “Ha. No thanks.” 

He didn't move. “The wolf wants you to go with it,” Charlie whispered.

“Well it's gonna be disappointed.” Gabrielle scooted away from him. By then, however, the crowd seemed to understand and decided to help the wolf and his cause  by cheering “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

“I will not succumb to peer pressure, you barbarians!” Gabrielle shouted back. If anything that made everyone shout louder, including Charlie. “Traitor.”

“Come on down!” Shouted the principal into the microphone and before she could say another word, Gabrielle was being ushered onto the court, close enough to say to the principal, “You realize you’re what’s wrong with America, don’t you?” 

“Let’s have some fun!” 

“Not exactly the response I was looking for,” Gabrielle muttered. It was a modified game of horse. The person in front would make a move, which the person behind would have to mimic. That would go until the next person made the same shot, then it was their turn to choose a shot. On an on into infinitum. 

The first boy threw a free throw, sinking the ball with a satisfying ‘ _ swoosh’  _ into the basket. The following person mimicked the shot and, though with a few clangs, also made it in. They called out “Granny shot!” and swooped down low, he threw the ball high in the air and it gracefully swooped into the basket. The following player lined up, shot, and managed to hit the principal in the face. Which was a feat. Because the principal was  _ behind _ them. 

“Out!” the principal shouted, holding his nose. Whether he meant of the game, or of the school, was unclear, but the boy was brought to the stands red faced and fidgety. The next person went, and tried to make a layup, but ended up falling on her face. The crowd roared with delight and she, with assistance from the wolf mascot, made a graceful exit. Sort of. It would have been super graceful if she hadn’t tripped again on the way to her seat.

Gabrielle bounced the ball a couple of times, a wash of familiarity with its ridges as it gently lapped against her hand with each leap. She could throw this, she should throw it. Not the ball, well obviously the ball, but also this whole adventure. It was obvious she was set up, she could see it by the way the wolf and Meg Masters were looking at her with smug superiority. She knew what they were up to. They wanted her to be as embarrassed as the poor girl before her. Worse, she thought. They thought she was a clumsy, stupid girl. She was small, hyper, and loud. Of course they’d want her to fail.

They’d have to get in line on that front, she thought. And just like the rest of the people she seemed to disappoint, they were going to have to wait awhile. This was not going to be her way out of Padua High School. 

This was going to be her home even if she had to tear down the smug grin on Meg Master’s face to do it. 

She kept it simple enough. Now that she knew why Meg Masters was looking so smug and why that stupid wolf had pulled her down here in the first place, it was critical that the show go on. That would make the finale all the more juicy, she thought. So, she started with a simple lay-up. One, two, hop and  _ swish _ , the ball swooped into the basket easily. It went back to the front of the line and the first boy easily made the layup shot. 

The boy then made another simple three point shot. Gabrielle could tell he wasn’t even trying, and she recognized him as the cruel looking boy from the hallway. 

There were three of them remaining, although that didn’t last very long. Apparently revved by the crowd, he chucked the basketball at the net with enough force that it shot off the basket and straight at the principal, who was still holding his face tenderly. Luckily, the principal dived out of the way in time. He looked to be regretting this whole scheme now, Gabrielle noticed. 

Gabrielle made the three point shot and it swished into the basket with ease, which made the only other player there—the cruel boy—eye her with less amusement. Gabrielle raised her eyebrow. Game on, she thought. She shrugged and turned around, facing her back to the board. The room went silent as she threw it in the air and heard it swish just as easily as the previous throw.

There was no evidence of a smirk on his face now. 

While she admitted that it would have been nice if he missed, making this whole thing much easier, a small thrill ran through her spine as the boy landed yet another one of her shots. The crowd was growing restless, seeming to catch on to the sudden battle of skills on their basketball court.

He moved on from the three point line and pulled off a very nice, if perhaps a little under practiced, teardrop maneuver. The ball floated through the air, arcing nicely through the air. It hit the rim for a moment but, by some weird work of physics, managed to get into the basket. 

Gabrielle, again tasked with choosing a move, estimates where she should go. 

“Come on,” he said. His voice was soft, she thought, but grated at her like aluminum foil between her teeth. “Just shoot it already. It’s not like you’re going to win.”

She hummed, scanning him. 

“I’m guessing…” she squinted at him. “Shooting guard?” 

He blinked. “Uh, yeah.” 

She nodded, muttering “Uh huh, uh huh.” She dribbled the ball  couple of times, moving backwards then performed the same maneuver. It sunk in cleanly.

“My turn,” she said over her shoulder.

The crowd, which had been keeping up a steady, droning roar, seemed to quieten down as she went to half court. She dribbled, waiting for the right moment to strike, then she rushed. One, two, three, she paused, gripped the ball and pumped the ball at the taller boy who immediately got on the defense with his hands in the air. She grinned as he seemed to realize his automatic motion.  “Good. You could have almost gotten me there!” she said. He frowned and seemed to understand she was toying with him, which was why he instantly fell for it when she actually performed a pump fake, causing his arms to go up but she easily floated the ball up above his hands after a brief rebound from her fake out. 

The ball fell into the basket like it was a messenger pigeon meeting the coop and the crowds burst out in surprised applause. 

She winked at the boy. He blinked. Then he went in and mimicked the move. She tutted at his lack of coordination, but otherwise the ball made it in soundly. What a prick. Ah, well. 

Suddenly the principal made his voice heard again. “Ladies and gentlemen!” the principal shouted. “We have our two winners!” 

“What?” the boy and Gabrielle both shouted.

The principal covered his hand on the mic. “We don’t have anymore time, I’m afraid.” He glanced at Gabrielle. “Plus, there’s an unfair advantage.” 

“Um, excuse me?” Gabrielle said, stepping forward. “What could you possibly mean by that?” 

“He means that I’m on the varsity boy’s basketball team,” the boy responded. “And you’re just a weird ass girl.” 

Gabrielle paused. She glanced at the principal. “Is that what you meant?” 

His spluttering seemed to be enough of an answer. She picked up the ball. “Okay then, champ. If you can complete this move, then you’re the winner. Got it?” She didn’t stay to listen. 

She could feel steam pouring out of her ears, even over the crowd of confused onlookers. The dribbling ball calmed her nerves as she, with very little ovation, went into a move that had gotten it into her older brother that she could be a basketball star. The thing that had made her teachers in grade school smile at her, and what made her father smile that one time, that one out of very few times in her memory, under bright lights five states and ten years ago.

She stuck the ball at the foul line and took a few steps back. One deep breath, and Gabrielle was running towards the basketball. In a move rusty with time, but with the familiarity of an old bike, she bent down into a cartwheel. Her feet caught at the ball at the bottom, and with a swift precision she came back down into a handspring and flung the ball with her feet.

The ball swished in the basket to a crowd of complete silence. Though that only lasted a moment before a tsunami of teenage awe and  _ loudness _ washed over the small Kansas auditorium. Gabrielle couldn’t help but briefly look at Meg Masters who looked like she’d just swallowed a very angry, poisonous wad of bees. But the best, the best sight to see was Sam Winchester with his mouth completely agape. 

Yeah, she thought, I’m pretty fucking amazing. You should probably make out with me. I’ll even let you wear antlers, if you’d like. 

Or was it horns? Moose horns? Didn’t sound right. 

But the excitement soon started to wear down. “Shit, did anyone record that?” she heard someone ask and it seemed that, unfortunately, no one had. That made her stand to attention. 

“Aw, shit,” she muttered. She tried to make an exit, but all eyes were on her and she could feel panic building up. She hid her face as best as she could from the cameras that began coming out, snapping pictures of her. Oh god, her social worker was going to be  _ so pissed.  _

“Gabrielle, Gabrielle!” a familiar voice shouted. Gabrielle turned and it was Charlie. 

“Charlie” Gabrielle’s eyes widened and she glanced up, clutching at her friend’s sweater. “Charlie we need to get me out of here.”

Charlie, may heaven bless her, didn’t ask another word. She, somehow, swept Gabrielle out the door leaving the roaring crowds behind. 

“So...um….would you like to explain the voodoo magic i just saw?” Charlie asked when they were safely settled on her bike, riding away from the school. 

“What magic?” Gabrielle asked, clutching her friend as they made a turn, “it was just a trick.”

“No, no that was not a trick, ” Charlie said, sounding a little bit hysterical. “Tricks are like..bunnies in hats and shit. Dude, you’re like Simone Biles or some crap!” 

“No I’m not,” Gabrielle said. “It’s just a trick. I taught myself how to do it when I was a kid. It’s the only one I can do, and it’s pretty useless when we actually play the game.” 

“So, you obviously play then?” Charlie asked. “So why haven’t you tried out for the team? I think you’re basically a shoe-in now, if you wanted to.” 

Gabrielle shook her head. “I...I can’t.”

“What? Why?” 

Gabrelle wanted to cry. She hated this. Even though she smiled and tried her best and she was fucking  _ determined _ that Padua, Kansas, was going to be the place she finally was able to call home, she was so tired. And at times like these, when she should be loving life and is instead feeling the creeping claws of dread drawing over her heart, that she really really  _ hates _ her life. 

“I can’t.” 

She didn’t say any more and Charlie, to her credit, didn’t ask. When they reached the house, Charlie waited patiently for Gabrielle to get off. And she felt even shittier that this girl, this wonderful friend with red hair and a wit to last for days, was saying nothing. She was smiling, and it was sad too. And maybe because her smile felt so much like how she felt deep in her own chest (well, maybe not that deep), she said,    
“Jody's not my mom.” 

Charlie paused, her smile flickering. “Oh. Aunt?” 

Gabrielle shook her head. She fumbled at the sleeve of her shirt. “Um. Foster...Foster mom.” 

Charlie stood in silence a moment. And Gabrielle was ready. She thought with a big breath that she could do this, she could let Charlie have this and then maybe after the pain went away then Charlie would understand why stunts like today can’t happen, why Gabrielle can’t do too many things that are big and loud and proud (even though those are her favorite things), and why she can’t go on Facebook or Instagram or anything.

So, she was surprised when, instead of asking for more information, Charlie got off her bike and wrapped her arms tight around Gabrielle.

After a few moments, she tapped her friend’s shoulder. “Charlie, I can’t breathe.” Charlie gently released. 

“Sorry,’ she said. She pulled away. “Okay, I’m gonna go.” 

“What? Oh,” Oh, Gabrielle thought, so Charlie didn’t want to deal with it. That’s okay. It...was surprising, but it made some sense. After all, Gabrielle’s life was a nightmare and—.

“I’ll be by around 6:45?” Charlie said. “To pick you up tomorrow? For school” 

This conversation was whirling her around. Gabrielle was about to ask what the hell Charlie was up to and...and something there stopped her, because in that moment she knew that Charlie  _ got  _ it.    
“Yeah,”Gabrielle said with a grin. “Tomorrow.” 

To her surprise, the promised nightmare was incredibly minimal. According to her very frustrated and generally frightening social worker who went by the ominous name of Cain, the crowd had been so surprised by Gabrielle’s stunt that no one had been filming it at the time and it went so quickly that all people saw was a flash of hair. “That hasn’t stopped them from talking,” Cain said, calmly if somewhat...well okay,  _ super _ judgey. “Luckily, the name Gabrielle Milton means nothing to anyone we would be concerned about. For now.” Gabrielle knew what that meant. Keep her head low, get good grades, and she’ll live another boring day. 

A blessed, blessed humdrum day. 

“How’s Jody?” Cain asked. He wasn’t the first social worker Gabrielle had come across, but he seemed to get how to talk to her the best. While others used misdirection, and well-meaning subterfuge to get Gabrielle to talk, Cain was like a surgeon. He cut right to the topics he wanted to discuss, he nudged and poked at them with expert precision and then, once he got what he wanted, he’d carefully seal up the wound with a thread and needle. Painful, sometimes unbelievably so, but Gabrielle preferred it to the patronizing. 

“Good,” Gabrielle replied. “Really good. Can’t complain.” 

“Oh really? That’s a new one,” Cain said. He’s joking, kind of. Still makes Gabrielle roll her eyes. 

“Well, maybe if there were less garbage can foster families up for grabs, I’d have less to complain about.” 

Cain hummed. Just a noise, vibrating chords and lips. It gave away nothing. Once he’d asked a few more questions, he was gone. 

“Until next week, Gabrielle,” he said. 

Jody made waffles for dinner. And Gabrielle didn’t need it, not really. She was sixteen for pete’s sake. But she ladled extra syrup just to make Jody secretly smile while chiding her for her possible, inevitable diabetes. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3, whoopee! There's a few more very blatant quotes from the film "10 Things I hate about you" which is not mine. It's slowly starting to morph away from the movie (other than the obvious use of different characters). Because it wasn't dramatic enough...and I like causing pain for my characters. Cue evil laughter. No other real warnings yet. Introduction of Sassy!John Winchester.

The Winchester-Singer Auto Shop sat on a large plot of land just barely inside Padua’s town limits. The land was mostly filled up with old junkers and piles of parts, but there was also a sizeable portion of the property that was purely residential. Two houses were nestled close together with a wide berth of grass all around them. A swing-set looking pathetic with disuse sat near the house furthest from the shop. Some nights, however, Dean used the swings when he needed to think or wanted to look up at the sky where all of his dreams of escape were lurking. Sometimes, late at night when he was tucked up under his sheets, only the dim light of speckled stars bleeding into his bedroom, he could hear the ghost sounds of his swing set, and wondered if Sam did the same thing. 

They never talked about it. 

Dean only worked on Friday nights and weekends unless one of the mechanics called out sick. Having been around cars his whole life—and not being a priss about grime under the fingernails like Sam was—Dean had a lifetime’s worth of education regarding car maintenance and repair under his belt. He knew his way around a car the same way most guys his age knew their way around Facebook, and Dean boasted the shop record for fastest tire change. 

He liked the days he could work in the shop. It meant that, when he finished up his homework and wasn’t in the mood to reread  _ The Road _ by Cormac McCarthy for the upteenth time, he actually had something to  _ do _ . Sometimes, choosing a life above the ignorant and stupid crowd was fucking boring. Working in the shop was mindless, sometimes, but at least he could make money and feel like he had done something by the end of the day.

But it was Monday. He parked his car on the dirt lot next to the house and went inside. 

“Home!” he shouted, kicking off his shoes at the door. 

“Living Room!” his dad, John Winchester, shouted from another part of the house. Dean walked to the living room and saw his dad sitting in front of the television with a beer in his hand. 

“Hey, Dad.” 

“Dean,” John didn’t bother turning away from the TV. “Force any teachers into early retirement today?”

“Not yet,” Dean said, slumping on the couch, “but it’s only four-thirty.” 

“That’s my boy,” John laughed, taking a pull from his beer. “Have you figured out where you’re gonna apply for school yet?” 

“I’m not going, Dad, remember?” Dean said, sighing into the cushion of the couch. “I hate school.” 

“You hate  _ high _ school,” John pointed out. “College is a whole different net of fish, Dean.” 

“It’s a lot of money,” Dean replied, bored. They’d had this conversation a thousand times since the day Dean said he wasn’t going to go to college approximately six months ago. 

“Yeah, well hopefully you invest that money and, in turn, get to  _ make _ a lot of money.” John glanced at Dean in all seriousness. “I want to retire in the Bahamas. Think of my happiness, Dean.” 

“Sam’s gonna go to college,” Dean assured his dad. 

John laughed. “Yeah, but by the time he’s done with all that law school he insists on going to, I’m gonna be dead as a doornail and Bobby will be dancing on my grave, laughing at me and my two ungrateful sons.” 

“Bobby’s gonna outlive ya, huh?” Dean asked. 

“I’m outlivin’ the lot of all you idjits,” Bobby said, coming in from the side door and wiping his feet.

“Is nobody working today?” Dean asked. 

“Perks of bein’ the boss, Dean,” Bobby said, then jerked a thumb in John’s direction, “and this sorry ass hasn’t worked a day in his life.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” John responded with a laugh, finishing off his beer. 

Bobby left the room and Dean could hear the refrigerator open. It was at that moment that another door opened and “I’m home!” came from the front door. 

“In here!” the two Winchester men shouted from the livingroom. Dean swung from his seat and peeked out the window just in time to see a cloud of dust and a black ferrari drive away. He groaned and fell back to the couch. 

Sam walked into the room and threw his backpack on the floor, sitting in his normal spot at the window seat. John said that was where Mary, their mother, used to sit and watch John and Bobby work when she wasn’t cooking and cleaning and being an all-around superhuman. For Sam, it was a little cramped but he seemed to fit, somehow, like he was some gargantuan, abstract-shaped puzzle piece that just managed to snugly find its place.

“Sam, convince Dean that he needs to go to college so I can move to the Bahamas before I’m dead,” John said. 

“Dad? Really?” Dean asked, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t tell Dean to do anything,” Sam said. “Like, you know, to act like a  _ normal friggin’ person  _ once in awhile.” 

“I don’t want Dean to be normal,” Bobby chimed in, walking back in the room with a beer. He leaned against the doorjamb. “He’d be boring like you.” 

“Ha ha,” Sam said, then huffed. “Seriously, Dean. You need to lighten up. Someone said you almost ran over a couple of freshmen the other day!  _ Again. _ ” 

“And how would you know,” Dean shot back. “It’s not like you drove with me.” Dean’s grin turned wicked and he could see the moment Sam belatedly realized his grave mistake, “How’s  _ Ruby _ doing, Sam?” 

“Ruby?” John said, shooting up taller in his chair. “That’s a girl’s name, right? Not some weird new-age, multi-gender thing, right?” 

“It’s a girl’s name all right,” Dean said, triumphant and smug in his victory. “In fact, she’s in my class: a  _ senior _ . Lucky Sammy!” 

Sam did not look like he felt lucky at all. He looked like he wanted to murder Dean, but that was sort of par for the course. The look flickered away as he tried to, instead, work his charm on his father. “It’s not like that, Dad. But...I mean, I was thinking of maybe asking her to--.” 

“No,” John said standing up and turning to face his two disappointments (aka sons). “I know what you’re going to ask her and the answer is going to be no. It always has been and always will be no. Sammy, you know the two household rules. Rule number one, no dating until you graduate and rule number two, no dating until you graduate. What about that don’t you understand?” 

“But,  _ Dad, _ ” Sam said standing from his spot, the flames in his easily excitable temper already making his fists clench. “Come on that’s not even  _ fair. _ ”

“Not fair? You want to know what’s not fair?” John said, stepping into Sam’s space and even though Sam was a giant, he’d inherited it from their dad’s side. (Dean would be bitter about it until the day he fucking died). They glared at each other, face to face. “What’s not fair is your mother having to drop out of high school because I couldn’t keep it in my pants! What’s not fair is how much we had to give up—our hopes, our dreams, our futures—to make sure you two ungrateful brats would have the things we didn’t get to. If life was about being fair, Sammy, then I don’t want to tell you about the shit that you’re gonna be facing along the way because it is  _ anything but _ fair.” 

John’s speech was met with momentary silence.

“But tell us how you really feel, Dad,” Dean quipped. 

“Shut up,” both Sam and John replied, not even sparing him a glance. Dean looked at Bobby and Bobby rolled his eyes. 

“Dating in high school is stupid anyway, Sam,” Bobby added, his voice a strange sort of sandpaper-sounding balm. “I mean look at Dean. He doesn’t do it.” 

“Hell no,” Dean said. 

“And why is that?” John asked. 

Dean shoved the reason, the real reason that kept him going out on the swing set at night and had him counting down the days and begging for his life in rural Kansas to just fucking end, deep deep down in his psyche. “Girls are gross.” 

“God, what are you, Dean? Four?” Sam snapped. 

“What? I don’t want cooties,” Dean replied, easy smile on his face. Sometimes it was fun to rile his brother up. 

“Dean you are such a friggin’--” 

“Wait a second,” John said. The two boys looked at their father and saw something that could both cause excitement and dread, because it was the look John Winchester had whenever he had an idea. “How about this. New rule. Sam, you can date.” 

“What?” Sam asked, excitedly.

“ _ What? _ ” Dean asked, not so excitedly.

“...as soon as Dean does.” John finished, crooked smile making his face look a little lopsided. A banging sound and shouts came from the shop, causing everyone to jump and momentarily forget the conversation. When the shouts suddenly became curses and the sounds of someone shouting, “you goddamn  _ idiot _ boy-,” the two owners of the shop shook their heads. 

“Garth,” they both muttered. The two men got up and John tossed his empty beer bottle in the recycling. 

“Dean, we’re gonna talk about college later. Don’t you think I’ve forgotten,” John warns as he heads out the door. The two men leave with a quiet  _ ‘whump whump whump _ ’ of the screen door settling back into its frame. 

“Dean.” 

Dean followed the voice back to his brother who was now looking far less angry and far more pleading, the same look that he usually gave their dad when he wanted to get ‘just one more book’ at Barnes and Noble and John, as usual, gave in. Dean knew that look and knew exactly what Sam was going to try to do with it. 

“No,” Dean said, turning away and picking up his bag. He started marching towards the stairs to go up to his bedroom. 

“Come on! I’m sure you can find one girl who you can passably tolerate enough to go on a date with,” Sam begged. 

“You have too much confidence in both the vermin that go to our school and in my ability to be able to keep my lunch down long enough in their presence to be able to go on a date with any of them,” Dean shot over his shoulder, taking the steps two at a time. 

“Okay, not a date then!” Sam said, pushing his way into Dean’s room even as Dean tried to close the door on his face. “Just take someone to the prom! You don’t even have to talk to them! Go sit in the bathroom for all I care!” 

“What? So you can bask in the witty repartee of Ruby “bitchface” Cortese?” Dean scoffed, “Yeah, no luck there. Sorry, not sorry.” 

Sam seethed. “You suck!” he snapped, stomping out of his room. 

“ _ You suck, _ ” Dean mimicked Sam as he left, then fell back on his bed.

His phone buzzed, which was unusual. The only person that ever texted him was John asking him, in terrible text speak only geriatrics should be capable of, to get something from the store. But with his dad wrestling with whatever catastrophy Garth lit on fire today, Dean rolled over and picked up his phone. 

The number that glowed on the screen was unlisted in his phone, but he made the mistake of memorizing its every 6 and 3. 

He deleted the text before he could read it.  

 

\----

 

“Tits,” Gabrielle muttered. 

She stared down at her math test. It snuck up on her last Thursday, and as quickly as it came into her life it had flittered out of her mind. To be fair, Charlie had decided that Wednesday night was going to be the night they watched  _ Suicide Squad _ that she had somehow stolen from the internet to Gabrielle’s complete awe. And she’d also lied to Jody about not having any exams. Because she’d forgotten about it. Because math was  _ awful _ .

Now it was Wednesday morning, and a giant red and underlined “58” bled on her guesses and _ “I have no fucking clue”  _ s _.  _ She glanced through the large searing x’s and circles and remarks and neatly slid the test into her folder and put her head on her desk.

Fuck fuck fuck. 

She hadn’t even gotten the true and false questions right. The only things she got points on were the multiple choice answers and she got some credit for her effort on some of the longform problems, even though her answer was way off. And her name. Thank god. 

When the bell chimed for the end of class, any hope that her embarrassment and sorry-ass numerically incapable brain would escape unnoticed went under the rug when her teacher said, “Gabrielle, hold back a minute.” 

Titty tit titserson. 

Her teacher essentially told her that, while coming to a new school and being in a new town was tough, Gabrielle was still expected to keep up with the rest of the class. And that sucked a whole lot, frankly, and she strongly disagreed with that internally. Mostly because math was boring and she wished it didn't exist. She wanted to say how she just didn’t get this shit. She wasn’t smart. She was funny and tricky and could do a wicked sweet cartwheel, but she was far from a numbers gal. 

“There’s tutoring every Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon,” the quiet man said, and Gabrielle knew he was being kind but really wished that he’d shut up and let her go. “If you prove that you went and you fix the errors on your test, I’ll consider bumping up your grade to passing.” 

Gabrielle was surprised by that, but nodded and slinked off.    
So that was how she found herself in a classroom after school getting ready to hunker down and do some dumb, stupid, crappy, lame math problems. Her life sucked. Charlie had offered to join her, even tutor her herself since she was fairly adept at the whole numbers game. But Gabrielle had enough embarrassment today. So she thanked Charlie, but said she’d see her tomorrow. 

Apparently, the cosmos disagreed that she had enough embarrassment. “Gabrielle!”

No. She refused to believe that her life sucked this much. She stabbed at her doodle (a tiger who slowly turned into a very specifically striped housecat and now looked more like a blob) in hopes that her delusions would leave her alone.

Alas.

“Uh, hello?” Two large, friendly hands appeared on Gabrielle’s desk and she wanted to cry. She slowly gazed up into the eyes of Sasquatch Winchester. 

“Please tell me you're here because you're bad at math.” 

Sam’s soft, kind ( _ wonderful, beautiful, sexy, amazing _ ) laugh ruined that hope. “I tutor after school for extra credit.” 

Of course he did.

“So, wait. You’re vice president of the student council  _ and _ you’re a tutor?” she asked. 

Sam blinked. “Uh, yeah. I also volunteer as a--.” Gabrielle waved her hand in the air, as if trying to ward away some of the ‘perfect’ fumes falling off of Sam WInchester like a waterfall. 

“Nope, no more. You reached your quota.” 

“My quota?” 

Gabrielle glared. “Yes. And if you don’t know what I’m even talking about that’s worse. Go away.” 

She groaned and put her head on her desk. 

“Gabrielle.” A chair screeched softly beside her and she felt a warm hulking mass slide into its pathetic frame. 

“Leave me here to die,” she replied, mournfully. 

“Unless you're allergic to quadratic formulas, I don't think you'll be dying any time soon.”

Gabrielle squinted at him “Fun sucker,” she muttered. He nudged at her until she sat fully up in her chair. 

“Come on, show me what you've got,” Sam said. Gabs would have been over the moon if this were any other situation.

“Wait  _ you're  _ gonna tutor me?” she asked, “aren't there other people you should be helping?”

Sam glanced around “well, most of the students and tutors are paired up, actually. My recent student just aced three exams so she's going to try going solo. So, I'm as free as you are. Plus, I want to help you.” 

Gabrielle blinked. “You do?” Oh, apparently Sam was even beautiful when he blushed. Bastard. 

Sam ran a hand through that magnificent hair. Gabrielle felt her eyes glaze a little “Let me help you?” 

She did. She slowly pulled out her test and waited for his judgment. There was none. He looked over the test, humming, then told Gabrielle to take out a notebook and the pair began to work. 

They worked for an hour and a half before Sam was satisfied with their progress. 

“I think we've done enough to at least get you a passing grade,” he said, voice strained as he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms behind him. 

Gabrielle slowly tucked her test away before slumping over the desk. “You are a math demon sent to torment me,” she groaned.

“Hey!” Sam laughed, “it's not my fault that you didn't know  _ basic  _ concepts.” Gabrielle retaliated by mimicking him in a high pitched voice. “Very mature.” 

Gabrielle resisted the real and vibrant urge to put gum in his hair. 

And so it went into the next week. And the next.

The awful (and beautiful and insane and amazing) thing is that the tutoring with Sam actually helps. Granted, she was by no means an Oppenheimer or anything, but three weeks into her tutoring sessions, Gabrielle almost skipped to the tutoring classroom. She threw the paper in front of him, and she knew that the grin on her face is what Jody would call a “cheese grin.” 

Sam was only startled a moment before looking down at the paper. Gabrielle wished she could bottle up this memory as he looked up at her with a very evident and incredibly hot gaze of pride. “You got a B!” 

“Damn straight I got a B!” Gabrielle said, crowing in delight and swatting away the shushing of a nearby librarian. She pumped her arms in the air. “I can rule the world! I am fire and death!” 

“Okay, cool it Smaug. You got a B. You can save your village burning for when you get an A.” 

Gabrielle rolled her eyes and snorted. “Uh, okay spoilsport. I don’t think you even realize the gravity of this situation. I’ve  _ never _ gotten a B in math.  _ Ever _ . In  _ history.”  _

“I thought you said in math?” Sam asked. Gabrielle paused, then realized what he said. 

“Awful, Winchester. You should be ashamed.” Gabrielle slipped in beside him, and the secret thrill of having a spot next to Sam Winchester and a weekly time that the gangly Fabio absolutely  _ had _ to sit with her still hadn’t worn off. They worked for an hour before Sam pulled back.

“Hey so I thought I should let you know I’ll have to shorten our tutoring session next Wednesday,” he said, “The prom planning committee set up the date without asking for my availability and since I’m VP I sort of have to be there.” 

“Prom?” Gabrielle said, surprised. “But isn’t that in, like, May?” 

“April,” Sam said. “And you wouldn’t believe how much work it takes to get this all together. I had to do it last year, too. It’s honestly a nightmare.” 

“Oh, well okay,” Gabrielle said, hoping she didn’t sound that disappointed. Well, to be fair, she was sort of excited she wouldn’t be staring at math problems for another hour of her life, but well...the other part of this whole thing was also a huge plus. “I’m sure I’ll find something else to do that’s almost as captivating as matrices.” 

“I mean, you could come if you want.” 

Gabrielle's head shot up. “What?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said, standing up and gathering his backpack. Gabrielle followed suit. “We need volunteers. People to help decorate, help with fundraisers, all that. You could be on the prom committee if you want.” 

Gabrielle laughed. “I don’t know if I’d be very good at that.” Considering that she was about as sociable as a hermit, she could hardly imagine she’d be very good at helping organize anything bigger than a birthday party.

And if her fourteenth birthday were any indication, she wasn’t particularly good at that either. 

Chaos. Pure chaos. Such sparkly, unmitigated destruction. 

“You okay there, Gabrielle?” Sam asked. Gabrielle blinked and realized she was being a mega-spazz again and had spaced out.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Spacing.” 

“I think it’s fun, really,” Sam said, in that soft tone that he used when he really meant something. Gabrielle felt warm at the thought she knew the difference in his tones of voice. He used that voice when she got a hard problem right, sometimes.

Heh. Hard.  

No! Focus!

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gabrielle said, trying to sound aloof. “No promises.”

Sam smiled.

\----

The meeting took place after school in Rowena’s art classroom. Rowena, funnily enough, was the advisor for the student council and she seemed both incredibly enthused and outrageously put-upon by the responsibility. So, she acted like she basically did every day. Today she was in a lovely midnight blue lace dress, matched with a simple, but elegant tiara. 

“Casual Wednesday, Rowena?” Gabrielle asked in class earlier that day. 

“If you try to be funny at me one more time,” Rowena replied, sweetly, “I can’t promise that I won’t rip out your spleen and sell it to the first bidder.” 

When Gabrielle arrived for the meeting, Rowena was at her desk, muttering and squinting at her computer screen as the students gathered up and the meeting began. Charlie, surprisingly, seemed happy to join Gabrielle in her prom committee excursion.

“Dad’s taken up yoga,” Charlie said. “And I love him, and I believe in his right to express himself, but I might be scarred for life if I have to see him in those purple leggings again.”

Sam, to Gabrielle’s great surprise and even greater joy, recognized her and waved her over  _ in front of other people.  _ You could knock her over with a feather. “Hey Gabrielle!” he said. “Glad you could find the time to show some school spirit.” 

She had a cool response prepared in her head, but what came out was, “Yeah! I’m so spirited!” Which made her want to crawl in a hole somewhere and die, but Sam was smiling and Charlie snickered at her because she was an awful, awful friend. 

“Smooth one, Gabs,” Charlie whispered. 

_ Gabs, oh that sounded so cool.  _ Okay, maybe she wasn’t that bad. Gabrielle elbowed Charlie when no one was looking, because  _ principle,  _ then brought her full attention to Sam. Sam, Gabrielle would probably admit even if she didn’t think he was the absolute  _ dreamiest _ human goliath creature that ever walked the Earth, was really good at this whole ‘peer leader’ thing. Even those who had looked less than pleased to be there showed some degree of excitement as he delegated tasks. 

The theme of the dance, Sam told them, was Medieval. Since everyone seemed to be going crazy about Game of Thrones, the student council decided to jump the shark as well. The colors were going to be bold and rich, with gold decorations. The drama teacher, a ridiculous man named Mr. Balthazar, had given them permission to use some of the props from their 2007 production of Camelot which, “had been such a traumatizing experience for all involved that if he ever even heard the name ‘Lancelot’ again he would go back into the priesthood.” 

“And I’ll be providing the spray paint and rhinestones,” Rowena chirped from her desk. “Although, if either thing gets on anything that I own I will skin you.” 

The sun seemed to smile upon Gabrielle just a little longer this week when she was assigned her task. Due to Gabrielle’s ten years of doodling instead of taking notes in class, she was fairly adept at calligraphy and drawing. Sam had pointed out her doodles once or twice during their tutoring sessions, and Gabrielle was surprised he’d retained that information.As a result, she was partnered up with Sam to create the huge banner that would span across the gymnasium. She would also help him hang gold, green and blue streamers around the auditorium on the day of the dance. 

Gabrielle decided to helpfully not point out that she was about five feet tall and would be very little help in hanging anything higher than Sam’s waist.  

She also, since she’d responded so enthusiastically to making the banner for the prom, was chosen to do the banner for the Food Drive as well. The Food Drive, Sam informed the group, was a double fundraiser. One, it was to help the local food pantry as Thanksgiving started winding towards them. The other was that they would be selling little candies that you could give to your friends that had little cards on them saying how thankful they were for each other. 

Gabrielle’s wrists ached just thinking off all the drawing she would have to do, but she smiled and ignored it because sometimes the heart was worth some carpal tunnel.

Her hand glided across the lined pages of her notebook for the rest of the meeting as she doodled some ideas for each banner. 

“We will probably need to meet before Friday so that we can make sure the banner is done and ready for the Food Drive,” Sam said to her. “If you don’t mind staying back for a little bit after this is over, we can schedule a time to meet up?” 

Not trusting her mouth, Gabrielle nodded and she could feel Charlie holding back giggles. “Shut up,” she whispered to Charlie who responded by hiding her face in her hands and snorting. 

Charlie assured Gabrielle she and her bike would be waiting for her outside the school when the meeting was over. “Go get ‘em, Tiger,” Charlie said, punching Gabrielle’s arm before jetting off. 

“Ow! Jerk,” Gabrielle barked, rubbing her arm. She turned around and saw Sam looking at her with a small smile and her hands froze and her lungs forgot if she was inhaling or exhaling. 

Everything seemed much easier when they had a notebook or a math problem to stare at. But Sam Winchester’s full attention on a person should be considered an operational hazard.

“So,” Sam said after a long silence (was it too long? Was Gabrielle supposed to say something? Did she miss her chance to win Sam Winchester’s heart with her wit?), “I’m free to work on this Monday afternoon. Would that work for you? Maybe we could come up with some ideas over the weekend and figure out what will work best?” 

Gabrielle took a deep breath and told herself _ , ‘you can do this, just talk. You love talking. This is just a boy. Just a pretty, beautiful, smart, wonderful boy…yeah okay.’  _ She cleared her throat. “Yeah, I think that’d be great. I actually have a couple ideas already for what might work.”

“Really?” Sam said, brown eyes brightening and making Gabrielle’s toes feel like jelly. “That’s awesome! You’re really pro-active about this.” 

_ Yeah, well, you better be impressed, as that is le pointe.   _ “Well, I’ve always been told that I can do the impossible if I set my mind to it,” she said. She just happened to not add that  _ that  _ particular insight came when she was suspended for getting her principal’s car on top of the middle school gymnasium about three schools and four foster homes ago. That remark, however, seemed to spark something in Sam. That familiar glint of scheming was a feature Gabrielle knew often lurked in her own eyes, but made the typically handsome and kind-hearted Sam Winchester look... _ sexy. _

“The impossible, huh?” Sam asked. 

Gabrielle blinked. “Uh.” She had no idea what Sam was angling for, but braced herself as he seemed to change tactics. 

“You hungry?” he asked. 

Her eyes widened and, apparently trying to help her get laid or, you know, just generally  _ in the presence _ of the opposite sex for longer than two minutes, her stomach grumbled loudly. 

They both stared at each other (Sam and Gabrielle, not Gabrielle and her stomach) and Gabrielle could feel her face heat up to match the bright red of her sweater. The calculating look in Sam’s eyes, however, melted away as the best sounding laugh in history erupted from his lips. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. He walked to the door and held it open, ushering a hand to urge Gabrielle ahead of him. “Come on. Have you ever been to the Purple Turtle? They’ve got awesome lattes.” 

Gabrielle felt like she was frozen and floating all at once. However, she looked in her purse. “I don’t have--.” 

“Nope! My treat! Come on, Gabrielle, grab a coffee with me?” 

Her name on his lips was like the sound of angels (well, that is, if the sound of angels sounded like a sixteen year old, six-foot-seven monstrosity of a boy). Every time he said her name, especially now in the art classroom with only the weirdly shaped, student-made pots and pastel drawings to hear it, it felt so soft, so private. Gabrielle thought she could live forever if she only got to hear her name come from those lips ever again. There literally was no reason, except the inevitable ass she was bound to make of herself in the upcoming hour or so, to say no. 

And Gabrielle was never one to be overly cautious, so she took her wariness and threw it to the wind.

“Gabs,” she said. 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “What?” 

Gabrielle cleared her throat. “My friends. They call me Gabs.” Well, one friend called her Gabs, but that was also Gabrielle’s only friend currently and whatever she was gonna do what the hell she wanted. “You can if you want.” 

Sam smiled (yes, yes,  _ yes).  _ “All right. Gabs. Let’s go?” 

Gabrielle nodded, and managed to refrain from punching triumphantly into the air as she did so. 

She texted Charlie. 

_ Gabrielle: SAM IS BUYING ME COFFEE. YOU WILL BE MY MAID OF HONOR?  _

_ Charlie: WOAH CAPSLOCK. Don’t get pregnant. Kay love you xx.  _

A few seconds later, another text popped up.

_ Charlie: Good luck, slayer.  _

Gabrielle had some great friends. 

\----

The Purple Turtle was a shit show, and Gabrielle loved it.

Walking to the cafe was a quiet affair. Gabrielle wished she could think of anything to say to the goliath other than, “Quickly! Let’s make mad, passionate love in the bushes!” But, she couldn’t, and her company apparently enjoyed the silence, so she suffered quietly, biting her lip.

“So, you plan on trying out for the basketball team, right?” 

Gabrielle blinked. “Uh, no. Why?” 

“Why?” Sam laughed. “You’re the one who completely schooled Christian with a crazy...what even was that move?” 

Gabrielle could feel the muscles in her shoulders tense. “It wasn’t anything. It was just a trick.” 

Sam must have been able to tell that this line of questioning wasn’t a great one, because he fell back into silence beside her. Try as she might to think of something else to say, Gabrielle’s tongue seemed stuck in her mouth.

She never wished for a quadratic formula more desperately in her life. 

The Purple Turtle was tucked between two of the larger buildings in town about a half mile away from their school. The Purple Turtle had no easily distinguishable storefront, just a flickering neon sign that said “Purple Turtle” over their wall-mounted mailbox (which was covered in band, inspirational quote, and kitten stickers). On the glass door was a bright purple turtle flipped on its back with its tongue sticking out.

But it was the inside that made Gabrielle certain that she’d finally found Oz, even if it was in Kansas. The interior of the cafe was a vibrant, nearly magenta, kind of purple. On each of the walls were large, crooked chalkboards. Some were very clearly for the business with daily specials and trivia questions while some were apparently for the enjoyment of the patrons. She could even see one chalkboard, in the back corner near the bright yellow “RESTROOM” sign, that was dedicated purely to phallic artistry.

Hanging from the ceiling fans were all sorts of random knickknacks, mostly reptilian in nature. Above her head, a crocodile's maw gaped as it swung gently under the undulating breeze of a fan.  

And was that ABBA playing on the radio? “What is this place?” she asked, awed.

Sam laughed, then pointed up to the menu boards. “So, pick your poison. Remember, it’s my treat so get what you want.” Gabrielle’s eyes nearly crossed at all the names and descriptions squeezed onto two chalkboards behind the agitated looking barista. The name of each drink was represented by either a reptile or some sort of morbid variation thereof, from the normal (The Alligator was apparently an americano) to the Purple Turtle signature drinks (The Choking Chameleon, which was a dark chocolate mocha spiked with chili powder).

Sam went with a Gagging Gecko (a flat white mocha with cinnamon on top) and Gabrielle went in for the kill by getting the Immortal Iguana (a caramel chai latte with double espresso, a mountain of whipped cream, and chocolate chips). “And you can be heavy handed with the...um,” she squinted at the sign, “...dewlap?”

The barista stared at her blankly, then proceeded to squirt another helping of caramel into the drink with such disdain that Gabrielle was, frankly, honored.

“Wow,” Sam said when Gabrielle came over, carefully carrying her precious cargo to the table he’d picked out near the large window that faced the main street. She carefully put the mug down and untucked her notebook from her back pocket where she’d been storing it during transport. 

“If you don’t want me judging your little ‘Trying too hard to be an Adult with a side of Sadness’ in a cup, then keep your mouth shut,” Gabrielle said, then immediately stopped in her tracks as her eyes bugged out. She was so distracted by the atmosphere, the dick board, and her impending caffeine-sugar high that she forgot that who she was with. She forgot that Sam Winchester was here, sitting with  _ her,  _ and he’d actually asked her to be here.

She cleared her throat and, hoping Sam hadn’t heard her outburst, sat down, stuck a straw into the mountain of whipped cream and sucked.

“Holy Mother of Zeppelin,” she gasped after swallowing the first hot, nearly tongue-burning gulp, sitting back and staring at her cup in pure awe.

“Um...good?” Sam asked, seeming a bit frazzled and, for the first time since she had been in his presence, unsure. Damnit, she was messing all this up.

“Yeah,” she said, finally chancing a look at him. She tried to smile demurely, then wondered if she might have some stuff on her teeth and immediately covered her mouth with her hand and inspected the situation. When the coast was clear she smiled again. “Yeah, really good.”

Sam smiled and the two of them worked at their drinks. Gabrielle’s was out of this world awesome. She could feel the caffeine and sugar already beginning to stir in her blood and wondered if she would cross into another dimension if she actually finished the thing. It was then that Gabrielle realized her appreciation might have been a little more audible than what decorum typically called for, because Sam was staring at her again with a look that made Gabrielle feel like the center of the universe and a complete freakazoid at the same time.

She licked whipped cream off her lip. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“No need to apologize.” Sam didn’t sound mad or grossed out, he just sounded sort of...surprised. Was that a good thing? Gabrielle shrugged helplessly.

Sam was the next to speak. “So...you like Zeppelin?”

Gabrielle frowned. “Uh, yes? Doesn’t everybody?”

“Not everybody loves them so much to say ‘Holy Mother of Zeppelin,’” Sam pointed out.

“Well, those people are idiots,” Gabrielle replied, waving a hand, “and obviously cannot appreciate good music.”

“God, you sound just like--,”

“I know. I sound like an old person.”

“Well...yes. But I was going to say you sound just like my brother.” Sam said, then that wry and calculating look, the one from the art classroom that brought them to this cafe in the first place, wormed its way back on Sam’s face. But with a blink, it seemed to vanish and be replaced by something far more wistful. His eyes glanced down at her coffee and her notebook. 

“You know you’re really good at drawing,” Sam said. 

Gabrielle, surprised, glanced down at the page that was currently flipped open. “Oh, um, this is a dragon.” 

Sam made a weird noise and Gabrielle found him trying to hold back a laugh. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I gathered that...especially since you were so helpful to write the word ‘dragon’ underneath.” 

Gabrielle followed his gaze. Shit. “Sorry. Spazz-cadet,” she muttered. 

Sam waved it off. “You know, there’s a really cool local art museum in town. You should check it out, maybe get your work in there.” Gabrielle choked back a laugh.

“Right.” 

Sam glanced down at his cup and played with the lip of the ceramic mug, the smile slowly ebbing from his face. 

“What?” Gabrielle asked, having trouble following the mercurial shifts of expressions on Sam’s face. 

“Oh, it’s just,” Sam said, glancing around the shop. “You know, I always wanted to take someone there. Start here, get a coffee, and head over to the museum and look at art. Like as a date, you know?”

Date. He said the word date. Was this a date? Was Gabrielle on a date? Datedatedatedate. Okay think, Gabs, think!

“Yeah it, um,” she tried to wrap her mind around this topic while, at the same time, trying not to freak out that she was saying the word ‘date’ in a conversation with Sam Winchester and they weren’t talking about April 25 or a fruit. “It sounds cool.”

And she thought she’d made so much progress, too.

“But, I can’t,” Sam said, leaning back in his chair. His eyes settled out the window, looking wise for his years and very humdrum. Gabrielle took a sip of her drink.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Well, I’ve never been allowed to date,” Sam responded honestly. “But now, my dad just made up a new rule.”

“Yeah?” Gabrielle said, before spluttering as her drink went down the wrong tube. She would  _ not _ be a freak about this. She cleared her throat after a moment and waving away Sam’s concerned glance. “What’s the rule?”

“I can only start dating if Dean starts dating.”

Gabrielle blinked, “...your brother?”

Sam, if anything, just looked more forlorn. “Unfortunately, Dean is a major asshole and refuses to even  _ try _ dating anyone. I think he’s even doing it to  _ spite  _ me.”

“I’m sure he’s not--,” Gabrielle began but Sam shook his head.

“No, he is. He’s a massive loser to the twelfth degree,” Sam replied, sagely.

Gabrielle scooped up some whipped cream with a spoon, licking it thoughtfully. “Yeah I...I’ve met him before.” Technically she met the bumper of his car, but eh, semantics. “He seems a little antisocial.” Sam snorted but Gabrielle continued, “Do you know why?”

“Unsolved mystery,” Sam sighed. “Apparently he was really popular all through middle school and his freshman year, and then he sort of...I dunno...got sick of it all or something. People have bets as to why, but I’m pretty sure he’s just incapable of human interaction.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Plus, he’s a douche.”

“Yeah, but I mean...he’s good looking, though,” Gabrielle said, and she’s not lying. Even with a pair of wireframe glasses covering most of his face, and a scowl covering the rest of it, Dean Winchester was a fine specimen of man. He maybe wasn’t as tall or as charismatic as his younger brother, but he was definitely attractive. He had the kind of lips that girls went crazy for and muscles that guys spent hours at the gym trying to get. Really, in the looks department, Dean Winchester was not lacking one bit.

Granted, he wasn’t a  _ Sam  _ Winchester, but really, how could the world be so blessed to have two of that magnificent creature hanging around?

“A lot of girls like the whole misunderstood, ‘me-against-the-world’ thing. They see it as a challenge,” Gabrielle added.

Sam leveled his gaze at Gabrielle and she could feel something in her tummy tremble (please don’t be gas oh my god). “You think you could find someone like that?” Sam asked.

Gabrielle shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” How hard would it be to find someone who was interested in getting inside the head of an angst-ridden hot dude? This was going to be easy as pie.

Sam reached out a large, tanned hand and settled it on Gabrielle’s small one and her eyes shot wide. “You’d do that? For me, I mean?” His eyes were soft and warm again, and it made Gabrielle want to roll in a flowery meadow or, you know, something romantic like that. 

“Hell yeah,” she said. “You can count on me, Sammy boy!.”

Gabrielle winced.  _ Kill me.  _

But Sam’s smile was blinding and Gabrielle was pretty sure  _ she _ would be needing glasses soon. A brief moment later, a car rolled up to the cafe and Gabrielle recognized it as the red toyota that nearly ran her over the other day. It honked.

“Well, that’s my ride,” Sam said, getting up. He put a hand on Gabrielle’s shoulder (twice? He touched her TWICE in less than a minute. TODAY WAS AWESOME). “See you later, Gabs.”

She melted into a puddle and waited until she saw Sam bend into the red car and speed off down the road. She sat there for a long moment, her drink very much forgotten as she vaguely watched the world pass her by.

Then she shot up in her seat. Wait, what? Shit! What had she just agreed to do?    
There was no question, she was definitely going to need backup on this!

“What?” Charlie, on the other end of the phone, sounded surprised to get a call from Gabrielle. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Charlie, red alert,” Gabrielle whispered harshly into the phone. “We have a Red. Alert.”

“What happened?” Charlie repeated, sounding really worried this time. Gabrielle swallowed down her trepidation and said, boldly.

“We gotta find someone to date Dean Winchester.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a day late for posting! I am slowly starting to wrap up the ending of this, so I can give you a solid read on how many chapters this puppy will be. Thanks! Also, so many quotes from the movie...so this chapter is dedicated to that movie...double.

“How are you  _ still  _ laughing?” 

It was Monday. Gabrielle called Charlie about their new mission on  _ Wednesday. _

“Because you’re a tiny, delusional nutcase, and this is the life I’ve chosen,” Charlie said, holding back another giggle. She cleared her throat. “There I think I’m done.” 

“No you’re not,” Gabrielle said with a knowing sigh. They were sitting in the empty bleachers of the soccer field during lunch time with fifteen minutes left before chemistry.  From her spot on the bench, she could see a tall, dark figure lurking underneath the bleachers, smoke drifting up to her nose. 

“Probably not,” Charlie replied, failing to hide a grin. “Just...just one more time. What did you call him?” 

“Come on,” Gabrielle said, groaning and laying down on her bench. She idly took a bite of an apple that Jody had slipped into her backpack. They ate in silence, until the figure from underneath the bench slipped away, smoke dissipating into the air after one final puff. Gabs turned her head to see black hair and a leather jacket slung over the shoulder of a young man. He walked back towards the school. 

When they were alone, Gabrielle said,  “You said that you had something on Winchester the Elder, so spillest thou the dirt-eth?” 

“Oh, you know I like it when you speak to me like a Shakespearean nobleman,” Charlie responded, wistfully. She joined Gabrielle on the bench, and they both stared at the blue sky. “Fine, I did manage to dig up a little bit of dirt, but I don’t know how much it’s going to do.” 

“I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” Gabrielle replied, magnanimously. 

“Fine,” Charlie sighed. “Apparently, Dean Winchester’s abysmal love life has nothing to do with lack of suitors.” 

“It doesn’t?” Gabrielle asked.

Charlie shook her head, her hair flopping noisily on the steel bleacher floor. “No, he’s been asked out a bunch, actually. You were right when you told Sam that cis girls like the whole ‘brooding and moody’ thing. The only problem is that Dean never accepts any of their offers.” 

“Really?” Gabrielle sat up. “But why? Is he really  _ that _ against the idea of dating?” 

_ Or that much of a dick _ , she added mentally.

“Maybe he just wants to follow Daddy’s rules,” Charlie guessed. Gabrielle shook her head. 

“I don’t think so. Dean was considered cool his freshman year. At least that’s what Sam said. Cool people  _ never _ follow the rules unless it benefits them.” That was all part of the cool code, Gabrielle thought. You know, that inherent code rebellious teenagers seemed to just  _ know _ that somehow missed her on the way into adolescence. Although, she’d  _ definitely _ gotten the ‘breaking the rules’ part down pat. 

Charlie shot up in her seat. “Wait! Maybe we can start there. We should go to the library and check out the old yearbooks after school, and see if maybe any pictures show up of Dean Winchester. Maybe he had some friends before he became the Elsa the Ice Queen.” 

Gabrielle hummed. “You’ll have to go on this mission solo, mi compadre. I have banner painting with Sam tonight.” 

Charlie raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Is this really how it’s going to be? Me doing all the heavy lifting and you flirting with the yeti man of your heart?” 

Grinning, Gabrielle shrugged. “Probably. But if you do it, I’ll give you a lollipop.” Charlie gave her the side eye and finally Gabrielle relented. “Ugh, fine. I’ll give you the cherry cheesecake one.”  

Charlie sighed, but responded sagely. “Well, I chose this life. I will complete my mission for you and for your sweet, sweet candy...mostly the candy.”

—-

The final bell of the day rang out and Charlie meandered towards the library. She wasn’t much of a researcher by trade: more of an ‘aim and attack’ kind of gal and always the tank when she played games online. It was a role she was more than happy to serve in real life. But hunkering down with a book that wasn’t YA lit or Mercedes Lackey made her a little panicky inside. 

_ It’s for Gabs,  _ Charlie reminded herself, and if it was for Gabs then she was going to do it. 

On her way to the library she was momentarily sidetracked when someone threw water at her shirt before darting away. Gasping and looking down in shock, she glanced back just in time to see three hoodies, each with dramatic kanji writing and one with little kitten ears on the hoods, bolting away from the scene. 

“You’re gonna regret that, you hacks!” she shouted at them above the din of the hallway. She made a disgusted whimper as she looked at her hair and down to her slowly soaking pants. “This doesn’t change the fact that  _ Avatar the Last Airbender  _ does  _ not count as a real anime!”  _ she continued shouting, but the water perpetrators were far and away. “Nards,” she muttered. 

She took another step and was hit in the chest with something  _ yet again,  _ but this time—to her relief—it was a towel. 

“There was a pool party and you didn’t invite me?” A hand, Charlie realized, was pressing the towel into her chest and that hand belonged to Jo Harvelle, resident senior badass of Padua High and also the President of the LGBTQ Alliance. It was a fact that had irritated many members of the club, since Jo was an ally and not gay or bi or anything. But Charlie didn’t mind, mostly because Jo Harvelle was one of the hottest ladies who ever walked on two legs and Charlie liked the view. 

“Ha, thanks,” Charlie said, taking a firm grip of the towel and trying to soak up some of the damage Frodo had taken from the watery onslaught. 

“You know, that shirt is probably considered vintage, now,” Jo said. Charlie could feel her  _ Fellowship of the Ring  _ t-shirt glaring back at Jo at the insult. 

Charlie continued wiping it off. “I’m going to ignore you because you say hurtful things.” 

“But vintage is cool! What’s wrong with vintage?” 

Charlie shook her head, unable to even begin to explain to someone so obviously clueless how timeless works of film and fiction could never be vintage,  _ hence _ timeless. Instead, she moved from her shirt and the top of her pants to her hair, ruffling it up. 

“So, I don’t usually see you around these parts at the end of the day,” Jo said, watching Charlie clean off with a casual, friendly sort of look. “Sure you weren’t coming to visit your favorite resident ally?” 

Charlie laughed. “Uh, no, not today. I’m heading to the library to do some research.” 

Jo’s eyebrows shot up. “Research? Sounds serious.”

“It kind of is, I guess?” Charlie said, then it was like the stars aligned in her brain and she snapped on an idea.  _ Aim and attack.  _ “...although, you might be able to help.” 

Jo crossed her arms. “If it has anything to do with biology then count me out.” 

Charlie shook her head. “No, no nothing like that. It’s just...you’re a senior, right?” Jo nodded. “Okay, so that means you might know Dean Winchester?” 

To Charlie’s surprise, something in Jo’s eyes shuttered. “You could say that,” she said, voice low and suddenly sharp, “Why?” 

Charlie, unsure she should continue, decided to sally forth anyway, and said, “Well, um, it’s sort of a long story.” 

Jo’s arms stayed crossed and her gaze did not shift. “I have time.” Her tone was not unkind, but it wasn’t going to let Charlie go, either. 

Charlie, trying to figure out how much information was too much information, gave Jo the basics. She told Jo that her friend (naming no names) wanted to date Sam, and that Sam told her the only way there was even a chance for Sam to date was if Dean started dating, so Charlie was going to figure out why Dean wasn’t dating people in the first place. 

“I mean, I don’t get it,” Charlie said, warming up to the conversation. “It’s not like he’s taken some weird abstinence pledge or something. It’s like he doesn’t have any friends at all!” Granted, Charlie only had one friend at the moment. But one friend still was something! And it wasn’t out of lack of trying, either, but with Dean it was like he was in a one man show with no room for anything but his massive ego. “He’s like a glow cloud from Nightvale or something.” 

“I’ll admit I don’t know what that means,” Jo said easily. “And...I could probably tell you at least one of the reasons why Dean seems so aloof.” 

“Really?” Charlie asked, excitedly. “You can? That’d be great!” 

“I could,” Jo said, slowly. “But I don’t think I’m going to. Well, probably not the way you want me to anyway.” 

Charlie froze. “Uh, what does that mean?” she asked. 

“What it means,” Jo said, voice quiet and Charlie realized for the first time in this conversation that the two girls were alone in the hallway, with nothing but the metallic whir of a rarely working air conditioner and distant shouts and running feet from the gym to accompany their voices.

Jo stepped forward, “What it means, Charlie, is that I don’t think you actually have a mean bone in your body. I don’t think you want to do anything but help your friend, and honestly I don’t mind the idea of your good samaritan mojo maybe giving the Winchesters a little bit of the lovin’ they refuse to take from anyone else.” 

Charlie, again, seemed like she was off on the wrong foot somewhere in this conversation. So she laughed. “Um, okay. That’s good?” 

“So, I’ll tell you two things.” She held up two fingers (perhaps if Charlie had forgotten how to count in the span of this conversation?) and ticked them off one by one. “First of all, go to the library and check the yearbook from Dean’s freshman year. Really look at it, every single page. Don’t leave any paragraph or blurb unturned, no matter how innocuous it seems.” 

Jo had gotten very close by this point, and Charlie could smell her shampoo: watermelon. Awesome. Jo put an arm across Charlie’s shoulder, hand hanging loosely over Charlie’s back. “And two,” she said and, to the younger girl’s surprise, gently poked Charlie in the nose. “If you hurt Dean in any way while trying to get your friend a date, I will personally see to it that you wish you were never born.” 

Charlie gulped. “Um,” she said, her voice shaking much to her own dismay. 

Jo grinned and leaned in to whisper in Charlie’s ear, “Dean Winchester does have friends. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.” 

With that, Jo Harvelle patted Charlie’s shoulder and stepped back, smiling. It was like the past few moments never happened, but they definitely,  _ definitely  _ had. 

“Have fun!” she said, cheerfully, and turned around. She walked away. Charlie watched her go, wondering what the hell just happened (and also checking out her butt just a little bit). 

“Okay. So she’s crazy. I can deal with that,” Charlie said into the empty hallway. She was still holding Jo’s towel and, with a determined squeeze, turned and continued towards the library.

At first the task didn’t seem that daunting, but with the passing minutes went Charlie’s patience. What the hell had Jo meant to look at every single blurb and every caption? Maybe she was just trying to ruin Charlie’s good mood, the redhead thought mutinously. But she kept going. 

The first fruit of her bounty came on page 42 and 43, a black and white mess of cartoons and speech bubbles. “Dance Like You Just Can’t Stop!” zig-zagged across the bottom of the two page spread and Charlie could feel her eyes glazing over, but then they landed on a small blurb in the upper right hand corner of the page. “Top-Left: The Party don’t stop till they walk in! From Left to Right: Jo Harvelle, Aaron Bass, Dean Winchester and Gordon Walker” Charlie’s eyes scanned the page until she found the picture. 

It was both adorable and, in hindsight, confusing and a little heartbreaking. Jo and Gordon, a boy Charlie knew of only vaguely, were on opposing sides of the picture making “Rock and Roll” signs with their fingers and sticking their tongues out. In the center of the picture were two boys standing back to back wearing sunglasses and both holding their fingers up to their chests like pistols. Charlie could recognize that chiseled boy-jaw anywhere. Dean Winchester was in a silly yearbook picture, wearing sunglasses and looking like he was having the time of his life. What the hell? Where was the surly asshole that tried to run her over yesterday? Charlie slowly flipped to the next page. 

She flipped through a few more pages until she reached another two page spread, this one dedicated entirely to Halloween and full of color. There were the typical yearbook photos of awkward poses with skeletons and teachers dressed as gluesticks. There was a picture of Dean again, this time as Batman and trying to be as dark and menacing as a fourteen year old can manage. Beside him was the boy she recognized as Aaron Bass from the previous photo. He was Robin, even though he was a little bit taller than Dean—a feat that must have been novel while it lasted—, posing with his hands in fists, ready to fight for justice. It was a cute picture. Charlie wondered if maybe Jo just wanted Charlie to know Dean had a friend? Okay, but that wasn’t going to help their problem. 

Charlie was about to turn the page when her eyes lit upon a small picture. In the very front of the picture was a younger and more bloated looking Fergus Crowley— _ puberty must be working out for him,  _ Charlie thought absently— in a Joker outfit looking generally a bit crazy. But that wasn’t what drew her attention. It was the two figures standing slightly blurry in the background. One, a bright green, red and yellow, was leaning against the lockers and hovering over the second, who Charlie was fairly certain was Batman. It wasn’t explicit, and the blurriness of the photo lent some room for doubt as to the identities, but the intimacy between the two figures was palpable. 

“No way,” Charlie whispered, and she started swiftly going through the pages until she reached the club pages, now fresh on a hunch. She found a page dedicated to the then-titled GSA and saw a smiling Aaron Bass surrounded by a few others that said “Our Senior Council!” Underneath it, and in the center of the page, was a group shot. The LGBTQ Alliance was a much bigger force in 2016, but there was still a sizeable group of bright eyed high schoolers in the photo. She easily picked out Jo who was smiling at the camera with a youthfulness that made something in Charlie melt, just a little bit, but then she looked for another familiar face. To her surprise, Dean wasn’t there. Wait. Was she wrong? Maybe that hadn’t been Aaron and Dean leaning against the lockers. 

But then she looked at the caption and read through the names. At the very, very bottom it said, “Not Pictured Here: Justin Avery, Gloria Franklin, Robyn Ludwig, Jessica Moore, and Dean Winchester.” 

Dean Winchester had been a member of the GSA in 2013. That didn’t mean anything, necessarily. He could be straight like Jo was, and just an ally. But Charlie was certain that the picture of Batman and Robin hovering close to each other behind Crowley was Dean and Aaron.

Dean Winchester was definitely hiding something, and if they needed a reason to explain why Dean wasn’t accepting any offers from the ladies of Padua High,  the best and most likely reason was that he didn’t want a lady to begin with. 

Dean Winchester was gay.  Or, he was at least bi. And Charlie hadn’t even had an inkling of an idea that must be the case.

“Ugh,” Charlie said, banging her head on the table with a solid ‘ _ thump.’  _ “I am officially the  _ worst _ lesbian.” 

——

“Why are you acting like you're more upset about this news than I am?” Gabrielle asked in chemistry the next day.

“Not upset,” Charlie said, safety goggles askew on the top of her head, distinctly  _ not  _ following the proper lab safety procedures. “I'm disappointed and concerned for my inner gaydar.” 

“You're ridiculous is what you are,” Gabrielle muttered, attempting to ignite the Bunsen burner. “Also aren't you supposed to be helping with this? I can guarantee you that my arson skills have little application inside the classroom.” 

“Everything applies if you believe hard enough in yourself,” Charlie sighed. “A feat I will never be able to accomplish again.” 

Gabrielle glanced around, and no one was paying particular attention to them or to their science lab. Still, she operated on the side of caution and quietly murmured, “Listen, if Broseidon Winchester decided to hightail it back into the closet and pursue a life of repressed douchedom, I don't think you can be blamed for not figuring out he was gay in the first place.” 

Charlie sighed, a sound of one who was both too wise and too heartbroken for her fifteen years of age. “But I'm a  _ lesbian,”  _ she moaned, apparently immune to the surprised looks pointed her way in her fit of woe. “”I'm supposed to have a sixth sense!”

“Well as far as I'm aware,” Gabrielle said, although she paused with a slightly manic laugh when the burner finally lit up, “you don't lose your lesbian card just because you have a broken gaydar. So, don't be too hard on yourself, C-Money.” 

The two girls began working on their lab, Gabrielle working fast and loose with the instructions and Charlie trying to figure out what the hell the other girl  _ did _ before fixing it and moving forward. Charlie made the mistake of trying to see if Gabrielle noted anything while she’d been on her own with the project and saw the glimpse of something before Gabrielle slammed the notebook shut.

“Gabs.”

“Shut up.” 

Charlie put down the beaker. “Gabs, come on, you know I already saw it. Let’s just get this over with.” 

“No.”

“Gabs.” 

“Ugh!” Gabs said, flailing back in her seat. Charlie bent over the notebook again and carefully flipped back to the page she was on. Then the page before. And the page before. On each page was what looked to be a comic. Gabs had shown her a couple of her drawings offhand, mostly because they were awful awful caricatures of the anime club and Gabs knew that it made Charlie’s malicious side cackle with glee. But these weren’t cartoons of the anime club. 

“What on Earth is that?” 

“It’s a sasquatch.” 

“Why?” Charlie then paused and thought about it. “...really, Gabs? This is the guy you  _ like,  _ right?” 

“He is a  _ very tall young man,  _ Charlie.” Gabs said defensively, “and  _ very _ mysterious! Much like our hairy American legend” She snatched her notebook away. “Come on, let’s get to work, chip chop!” 

Charlie let it go. Almost. “How many comics of Sam the Sasquatch Winchester do you have in your notebook, Gabs?”

“Shut up!” 

Charlie, after preventing Gabrielle from accidentally blowing up their lab twice, finally secured her goggles and pushed her way forward. This came much to Gabrielle's relief, even more so when Charlie asked, “so, tell me about your magical afternoon of love and arts and crafts.”

Gabrielle’s banner making session with Sam was pretty uneventful, although she didn’t know if she’d ever get over the fact that she had been actually  _ sitting there _ with Sam. Without  _ any  _ equations. They had rolled out a long piece of maroon paper and Gabrielle outlined the letters along the banner, then the two of them had filled in her work with golds and silvers. 

And they'd  _ talked  _ which was awesome, and not one formula was mentioned the whole time. True to form, Gabrielle felt herself tripping over her tongue for a majority of the first couple of minutes. But a television had been on in the corner of the room, with the volume on low. The life of the recently deceased David Bowie was the topic of discussion and Gabrielle let the sound wash over her as she dipped her paintbrush into the metallic paint. 

“It's still so weird that he's gone,” Sam said. Gabrielle hummed in commiseration, all other motor functions compromised as she started adding detail to the shimmering bronze-ish dragon resting on the bottom of the banner. “Me and Dean dressed up as him for Halloween one year.”

She paused, glancing up, “Both of you?” 

“Yeah,” Sam said leaning back, and Gabrielle's eyes settled on the jutting line of the boy’s jaw and how it tapered down to his jugular and  _ dragon, paint the dragon you perv.  _ “I went as Aladdin Sane and Dean went as Ziggy Stardust.” He laughed. “It was...well it was a lot of fun. Dean usually gets mad when I bring out old pictures of us, but whenever those ones come out he always says,” Sam’s voice pitched an octave lower to mimic his brother’s voice, “ ‘David Bowie’s a badass.’” 

He wasn’t wrong, Gabrielle thought. 

“My dad always played ‘Diamond Dogs’ when he was home,” Gabrielle had told Sam, grinning at the memory. “Sometimes he would sing and dance along. He looked like a total ass.” 

Sometimes, her dad would even swing her into his arms and make her sing with him. She'd always make a show of trying to scramble away, but she could still feel the peace and calm settle on her shoulders when she remembered his warm palms and strong heartbeat.

She didn't talk much after that, and she wasn't sure if Sam noticed. At four, Sam put a hand on her shoulder and told her they should pack it up for the day.  

“It was nice,” Gabrielle said, and couldn’t help the small smile that brushed across her lips.

“Nice?” Charlie asked, aghast. “You got to have sexy sign making time with the moose man and you tell me it was just  _ nice?”  _

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “What did you think was gonna happen? I was gonna just jump his bones the instant I was alone with him? I want to develop trust and whatever.” Gabrielle leaned back in her chair, relaxed as Charlie completed the next step to her project, writing down the numbers her friend shouted out. “Plus, I wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway. Sam’s off limits until Dean has a date, which brings us back to this whole dilemma.” 

“Dean Winchestgay.” Charlie paused, looking thoughtful. “Wait, maybe Dean Gaychester. Oh, I like that one.” 

“Do you think anyone from the LGBTQ Alliance would want to...I dunno, take Dean out for some pizza?”    
Charlie morosely shook her head. “I talked to some folks from the Alliance about it all ready, but they all said a variant of A, Don’t want to deal with a closet case, B, Don't want to force someone out of the closet even if they are willing to deal with a closet case, or C, Don’t want to deal with crankpot and all around asshat Dean Winchester.” 

“Great,” Gabrielle said, “so not only do I have to find a gay guy that’s most likely not in the LGBTQ which, um, how the hell do you even figure that sort of thing out? But also I have to find someone crazy enough to go out with him.” 

“Seems like you might be stuck, Hannah Solo,” Charlie said with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. 

There was a sound. It chomped through the air with sickening, almost rhythmic ‘squelches.’ Over, and over, and over, from just behind Gabrielle and Charlie came the wet stabbing noises of someone massacring a dissection frog. 

The two girls slowly turned around. A tall boy in a leather jacket stood in the back of the classroom with a frog on his desk. He stared at his task with a forceful, yet determined calm like a surgeon who was working on a triple bypass patient. Each stabbing motion was precise and left no room for excess fluid or froggy part on his person or at his station. 

Those eyes, Gabrielle thought, were incredibly captivating even as they zeroed in on the amphibian carcass, or what was left of it. They also were incredibly familiar, and Gabrielle realized that this was the same boy she met when she first arrived to Padua High. He seemed just as mysterious and aloof in this classroom as he had a few weeks ago outside Mrs. Moseley’s office. 

Crazy? Probably. Resourceful? Considering he was currently dissecting a frog in  _ chemistry class _ , it was likely.  Attractive enough to possibly woo a Dean Winchester back out of the closet…? “What about him?” she whispered. 

“Him?” Charlie asked, tearing her eyes from the horror of Cas’s desk. “No, no way Gabs. Do you know who that is?” Gabrielle gave her the patented _ ‘ No I don’t hence why I asked, duh!’  _ face. “Just, don’t even look at him. He’s a criminal. I heard he lit a police officer on fire and he just came back from a stint at San Quentin.” Charlie shook her head. “You don’t want to go asking a guy like that for favors, Gabrielle. One of the girls on my bus said that he sold his liver on the black market just to get a new set of speakers for his car.” 

“So he likes cars,” Gabrielle responded, winking, “Dean Winchester likes cars. Almost killed us over one, remember?” 

“You’re suicidal,” Charlie said, decisively. “Look at him, Gabs. Really look at him. Do you see what he’s doing? He’s stabbing a frog. He’s stabbing a frog and we are in chemistry class. Where did he get the frog, Gabrielle? Why does he have a frog? Why is he stabbing it? Also, that’s a butterfly knife. That is not a dissection tool provided by the Padua County school system. These are all questions and observations that I, as your best friend, am more than happy to provide you with. Maybe you should think about those, instead of whether or not he’d be crazy enough to date Dean Winchester.” 

“I dunno,” Gabrielle said, “I feel like all of that can be explained by some ol’ fashioned sexual frustration.” She paused. “Okay, maybe not the knife...but also, maybe yes the knife?” 

When the teacher, Mrs. Fincher, walked around to Castiel’s station, Gabrielle’s eyebrows flew up by her reaction. Rather than yelling at the boy, the instructor sighed and picked up the dissected specimen (what was left of it) and put a piece of paper in front of Castiel. Gabrielle was familiar enough with the sheet of paper to know it was a detention slip, but it did not last long. A moment later, Castiel started ripping it up and setting the tiny pieces into blazes by flinging them into the bunsen flame. His eyes were still as focused, although his mouth was set in a disappointed frown. 

“I think he’s our guy,” Gabrielle said. Charlie groaned. 

—-

Their first meeting did not go quite as planned. Not that Gabrielle really had a plan, or any idea at all what the hell she was doing.

“Hi there,” she said, leaning against the lunchroom table where Castiel was lying down. He’d taken up an entire row, not with his mass or even with any stuff. It appeared that no matter where Castiel went, he had his own atmosphere, and the rest of school were like the other planets, dancing near him and around him but never coming close enough for contact: verbal or otherwise. 

But Gabrielle wasn’t scared of him, as much as Charlie tried to instill in her that she probably should be. After all, she’d been in the foster care system for too long to be too freaked out by random acts of violence towards amphibians and general aloofness. 

Also, San Quentin was a federal prison for  _ adults _ . Castiel was a teenager. A weird one, and possibly unbalanced, but Gabrielle wasn’t buying it. 

Castiel’s eyes were shut and he did not respond, so Gabs slid up further onto the table. Castiel lay face up on the bench so Gabrielle sat cross-legged and leaned her head over the edge. The boy looked sort of peaceful like this. He wasn’t sporting his typical leather coat, just a black t-shirt. His hair was sort of wild, curls springing up around his head and framing his face. His hands, tan and square, were laced together and resting on his chest. 

“Helloooooo?” Gabrielle said and she could feel Charlie groan from behind her.  Still, no reaction. With a huff, Gabrielle reached back in her purse and found her copy of  _ Jane Eyre _ that she was reading for her lit class (even though she’d secretly read it about four times already because,  _ sigh _ , Mr. Rochester) and began fanning it in front of Castiel’s face. 

It was like watching a television snap on: sudden and slow all at once. One of the square, tanned hands was now holding Gabrielle’s: not too hard yet certainly not gently. She gasped in surprise, and when she looked at the boy’s face, Castiel’s bright blue eyes were open and drilling a blank sort of rage, indirect but constant and strangely calm, into her face. He squeezed and immediately Gabrielle let go of the book and it fell into Castiel’s other waiting hand. With a motion that had to be practiced, the boy swooped to a stand, somehow avoiding bashing heads with Gabrielle, who scrambled to stand beside him. He whipped out his knife and, without a beat, placed the book down and stabbed it clean through. It stuck up when he took his hand away and with a grunt of satisfaction, he grabbed the knife and pulled it out again. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist the knife was gone and he walked away. 

Gabrielle stared at her book and she could feel the ebbing silence of the lunchroom press in on her. Charlie came up beside her. 

“You okay?” she asked. Gabrielle nodded and picked up her book. The hole was small but visibly...well, a hole. 

“That was a little extreme,” she said, finally, turning to Charlie. “Maybe he has an issue with 17th century English lit?” 

“Or, you know, an issue with  _ everyone and everything, _ ” Charlie responded. The red head looked around them. “And now people are staring. Great.” 

“Who cares about them?” Gabrielle said, offhandedly. When Charlie didn’t respond she glanced back at her friend who was eyeing the rest of the room who, Gabrielle realized, were whispering and staring openly at them. There was a piece of her that sounded an awful lot like Cain saying  _ stop drawing attention to yourself, you small ball of crazy,  _ but she shook her head. This wasn’t anything to worry about. “Charlie, they’re just people. Let them talk.” 

Before Gabrielle could chime in another thought, Charlie held up her hand. “No, we tried your way and now you have a hole in your book, and thankfully nowhere else that isn’t supposed to have a hole. If you’re serious about this, then we’re going to do it on my terms.” 

“Your terms?” Gabrielle asked, gently putting her book back in her purse. “What are your terms?” 

Charlie squared her jaw. “Backup.” 

——-

 

Ruby Cortese was an intimidating girl. Gabrielle wasn’t really sure why Charlie was walking up to her while she leaned cooly against her very expensive and shiny looking car, texting and looking generally way too awesome to be in high school. 

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Gabrielle asked from behind Charlie, who was walking towards Ruby like it was no big deal. 

Charlie stopped and turned around. “Are you serious? Weren’t you waving Charlotte Bronte in the face of the resident school psychopath only a few moments ago? And now you’re scared of some rich girl?” 

Gabrielle contemplated this. “She is quite tall,” she said after a moment. “And I think her heels might be concealing some sort of assault rifle.” 

“Castiel  _ stabbed your book with a knife, _ ” Charlie explained, “a  _ real _ knife!” And really, Gabrielle thought she was getting a  _ little, _ as the French say,  _ overdramatique.  _

Charlie put a hand out and stopped Gabrielle in her tracks.  “You. Stay here.” 

“What?” Gabrielle said. “But you said—.” 

“No,” Charlie said, holding up a hand. “No more talking. Go sit on the bench over there and pretend you’re...I dunno, texting, or something.” 

“I just don't understand why she would help us,” Gabriielle said.

“It's just business,” Charlie assured her. “Life is about making deals, and Ruby Cortese is the gatekeeper of crazy deals at Padua High.” 

Gabrielle tried to convince her friend to stop being ridiculous and let her join the conversation, but Charlie wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, and feeling very much put-upon, Gabrielle went to the bench and slumped on it. 

Charlie, now rid of her best friend-cum-huge pain in her ass, took a deep breath and marched determinedly towards Ruby Cortese. 

She didn't mention that the primary reason Ruby would be interested was that she had been making very overt moves on the younger Winchester since last year. Charlie bet that she might be the reason Sam wanted to be able to date so badly. Charlie planned on using that to her advantage. 

And just hoped it worked out in Gab’s favor. 

Ruby was wearing a pair of sunglasses that Charlie could soundly bet cost more than her entire wardrobe. She tapped on her phone with precise, dark red fingernails and didn’t pause for even a breath as Charlie entered her sphere of ‘really really rich and really really bored.’ 

“Hey,” Charlie said, trying to sound casual. 

The tapping didn’t stop. “Are you lost?”

Charlie cleared her throat. “Um, no. Actually, I just wanted to have a chat.” 

Ruby really had the whole ‘disinterested young socialite’ down pat with her phone, sunglasses and casual demeanor about pretty much everything. But even Charlie recognized her words were too ridiculous to ignore. Ruby paused and glanced up. “We don’t chat.” 

“I’ve got a proposition for you, if you’re interested.” 

Ruby almost immediately resumed texting, and if that was going to be her answer, Charlie was just going to pretend she didn’t understand ‘snobby brat’ speak. Plus, what she had to say was going to get her attention, and was part of the reason why she wanted Gabrielle as far away as possible. 

“Listen, you like Sam Winchester, right?” Ruby’s tapping didn’t stop, but it did slow down. She didn’t respond. “But you can’t go out with him, because Sam can’t date until his narked and probably under-medicated older brother does, but no person in their right mind is going to date him.” 

Ruby scoffed and Charlie pulled out the big guns, because maybe she wasn’t going to tell her best friend every single little thing she knew about every single little person all in one go. But that didn’t mean that Charlie didn’t know some stuff. 

She’d lived in Padua her whole life, and she knew that the gay community was small. She knew that they also had a really hard time keeping their mouths shut about anything,  _ especially _ secrets.  To be truthful, most of the people in the LGBTQ Alliance were mega drama queens. Sort of par for the course, Charlie thought. All that confusion and acceptance and glitter was bound to cause some gossip. 

So, it didn’t take long to find out who managed to date Dean Winchester before his seclusion, even if the answer was a bit of a surprise, considering his ex’s current target. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why they broke up.

And for that type of thing to be so buried down on the gossip chain—a steamy relationship between an angry hot guy and a rich pretty girl—must mean that one of those people did not want that information getting out further than it needed to. 

So, she took a risk. “Mostly because Dean wouldn’t go for a girl anyway.” 

As much as Charlie secretly wanted Ruby to react dramatically—maybe whip off her sunglasses with a swing of her luscious, dark brown hair, and shout once or twice in dismay—the other girl rarely did anything anybody wanted her to do. So, true to form, Ruby hardly reacted. She did stop typing again, and pressed the top button on her phone to lock the screen. 

“Does this conversation have a purpose?” she asked, finally looking fully at Charlie and sliding of her sunglasses. 

“What we need, then,” Charlie said, glad to at least have eye contact now, “is to bribe someone, a guy who isn’t from the LGBTQ, to date Dean. Someone who doesn’t scare easily.” 

As if the gods of perfect timing were smiling down on Charlie, the shotgun sound of an engine blasted through the senior parking lot, making the unwary (including Charlie), jump and turn. The source of the sound was a car the color of a spoiled tangerine. It blasted AWOLNATION as it ripped out of its spot. Inside the car, was Castiel Novak. 

“Like him,” Charlie added, lamely, gesturing to the car and its occupant. 

Ruby watched as Castiel switched into drive and rolled through the lot, far slower than Charlie first expected he would. 

“Didn’t he eat a live duck once?” Ruby asked.  

Charlie nodded. “Everything but the bill and feet. Clearly he’s...a solid investment.” She felt more than saw Ruby’s sharp brown eyes rove from Castiel to herself, and took a calming breath before turning back to face Ruby. 

“What’s in it for you?” Ruby asked. She squinted, “Why are you even talking to me about this?” 

“I’m an ideas girl,” Charlie said, effecting a cool shrug as best as she could. “I saw a problem and I also see a very easy solution. As for me,” she thought about her water stained shirt yesterday, the stares, and about the isolation and cold shoulders she’d received until she met Gabs, “next time you’re walking down the hall, I’m walking down the hall, you say ‘hey.’ I say something equally as cool.” 

She didn’t mention that this was also for Gabs, that maybe if she had Ruby go after this whole venture then Gabs wouldn’t get caught in the crosshairs. Castiel Novak might go for this and might go after Dean. Dean might end up interested in Castiel. Or the both of them might go absolutely apeshit and go after whoever it was that tried to set them up and then Gabs would be stuck, and Charlie wasn’t about to let her sugar-obsessed, short, and ridiculously vulnerable best friend get hurt. Ruby? Ruby could get fucked over for this instead. Even if that meant possibly giving away her friend’s chance at a sasquatch filled life to the likes of Ruby Cortese. 

Charlie was going to do her best to avoid that possibility as well. 

“Cool by proxy, got it,” the older girl murmured, sounding bored again, putting her sunglasses back on. Ruby was still staring at the orange car, which was sitting in the lot as busses began pulling out. By now, Castiel had pulled his car into park and was sitting in the driver’s side window, banging out a beat to match the thumping rhythm from his radio. Ruby sucked in a breath. “But, why do I need to do anything for you? It sounds like a lot of work for me, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a huge fan of manual labor.” 

Charlie thought she might say that, it made sense after all, so Charlie had her secret weapon. “Currently, all the general population knows about Dean Winchester is that he’s a gruff, irritable eighteen year old with an above average GPA and a job at his dad’s auto shop.” Charlie glanced down at her nails, trying to look cool but also making sure her hands weren’t shaking. “And we can keep it that way for now, unless he comes out and whatever.” Charlie doubted it, and by the looks of it so did Ruby. “But we can make sure your little tete-a-tete with Winchester the Elder, and your subsequent and totally embarrassing rejection from him in your sophomore year summer when you both worked at the community pool can go quietly under the rug, never to be heard of again.” 

Ruby glared at her. “How do you know that?” she snapped and Charlie was surprised that she  _ actually _ made Ruby Cortese lose her cool. Charlie, afraid she’d say something to ruin the whole mysterious vibe she was running, just shrugged and stared at Ruby as evenly as she could. The older girl huffed and finally said, “Fine.” 

Then, in a totally weird turn of events, Ruby set her shoulders and pushed off her car just as the last bus was pulling out. In under ten long, quick strides, Ruby opened up the passenger side door of Castiel Novak’s car and slipped inside. Castiel, seeing the girl get in, slipped back into his car through the window. 

Charlie held her breath, but then the car rolled out of the parking lot and, eventually, out of sight.

“Okay so that was the coolest shit I’ve ever seen,” Gabrielle said, walking up to Charlie now that Ruby was long gone. She pressed a lollipop into her friend’s hand. 

She wasn’t wrong. 


End file.
